Pomer strilec' na viyni,
Zhynuv svoyoy smertyu na chuzyni,
Lezyt' nezyvyi, krov yoho zallyala,
A ostra kulya hrud' yomu proyshla.

Tovaryshi yoho yomu spivayut':
– Vichna tobi pam’yat', tovaryshu nash,
My by tya vzyaly zaraz z soboyu,
Ale skorenko spishymo do boyu.

My b tya vzyaly u borbu zavzyatu,
"Urra, chlopci! Urra!" – i stanuly vraz.
A tam pozadu sanitary idut',
Rany zavyvayut', na nary kladut'.

A yoho bat'ko, shcho shanci kopav,
Zbyrav pobytych i yich chovav.
Znayshov strilcya, shcho vze ne zyv,
Tak sya pryhlyadaye, a to yoho syn.

Stav ridnyi bat'ko, ruky zalomyv,
Zbolilo serce, shcho malo ne vmliv,
Nazbyrav doshchok, zbyv domovynu,
I slezamy kropyt': "Oy synu miy, synu!"

Ishov dodomu, pomalu stupav,
Sivshy konec' stola, ta y dumky dumav.
– Oy zinko, zinko, skazu ya tobi:
Tviy syn ridnenkyi lezyt' vze v hrobi.

I pishly vsi troye v tuyu storonu,
De pochovav bat'ko ridnu dytynu.
Tam poklyakaly, tam sya pomolyly
I chrest derev’yanyi na hrib zlozyly.

A sestra kaze: "Bratchyku miy,
Pishov-s' na viynu na vichnyi spokiy.
Z toboyu, brate, bilshe ne budu,
Tilky sya proshchayu do vichnoho sudu".