***... I knitted socks, I got two pairs a week.

***... I knitted socks, I got two pairs a week.

I knitted socks on the train, the subway, everywhere.

You can imagine how I drove in the Moscow region, the wheels screeched,.

I sat by the window, a ball of sheep's twine curled around me.

I want you to survive the cold. I understand it's not easy.

But the socks I knitted warm me from the bottom of my heart! I can imagine how you would put them on your bare feet.

I can imagine how you would put them on your cold heels.

There is a rustling note there. It contains the words of concern my wife:.

"You will be my friend, you will be my son, you will be my brother! You will read the note. And you will go on a mission at night.

Let my brown blue eyes help you,.

Let them help you avoid this diabolical death.

These warm ones, twisted with Russian thread, are made of wool.

Slightly spiky dog-like socks, colored like a field.

I knitted them all day.

I hurried to tie them before nightfall. Because it's delivery in the morning!

The bags are folded and packed.

They are knitted from angel feathers, sweet speech, a winning elixir, clear dawn and sunset,.

They heat up like Russian ovens. Yes, to the full extent of Pushkin's words, to all latitudes.

Yes, on the spiers of the cross.

Yes, on the waves of the holy Baikal.

My mother taught me to knit neatly, like honeycombs.

She said - to knit.

I tied him up. Svetlana to Ontiva.