To my wife Tatiana
The ashberry at first is burning bitter,
As it is scattered bright above the brush
Of juniper that rustles in silence: Hush!
Go cautiously away! Here is the litter
Of lightning. Then the wind begins to rush,
The thief, the reaper, the eternal splitter;
The rowan fades; then comes its turn to glitter,
And glittering beckons the springing thrush,
Who greedy proves with pry diligence, whether
In paradise remains forbidden fruit,
And the delight becomes for us acute,
As we through forest go and come to gather
The mutable sweeting: we ourselves are mute:
We understand, what sometimes means “together”.
1995
The Ashberry
© Copyright: Владимир Микушевич, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116100610625
Свидетельство о публикации №116100610625
Рецензии
