Where mothers cry, rivers flow, where sister cries, streams run, where woman cries - there is no dew. Every child's mother feels sorry for not cutting her finger. Mother's anger is like spring snow: it will fall heavily and it will melt away soon. The mother swears by the son - he takes the stove, with the son-in-law - for hell. There is no flower better than a cat, no better than a mother. Not the mother who gives birth, but the one who gives birth. I would be glad if there was a sky for the children and cover the stars.
Популярные вопросы