My thoughts

You are all I have left, my little children with wings, so fly away. Fly to the Dnipro; fly to the steppes. Listen to the peasants, huddled around their hearths. They know of devotion and arbitrary deprivation. They sing of stubbornness, disobedience, and subversion, and they sing of cruelty and stupidity. Fly away, and, when you come back, I will cry with you.