The pensive forest sighs quietly,
The day begins, full of wonders.
The forest is all amber, all golden,
Pink, light, covered with a veil.
Bright sun – on white furs,
Sparkles of glitter – on sleepy branches.
The glades are covered with snow, everyone is asleep,
There are no berries now, and red honey mushrooms.
The crystal sparkles – the whole frozen stream,
There are no tender violet eyes here,
Ringing lilies of the valley in the dewy grass,
Greenery, twittering – all in silver.
Winter, Winter, I dream of summer,
when the lush grasses bloom.
I meet the long-awaited dawn,
listen to how the birds sing merrily.
In a warm blanket, I closed my eyes,
I wish I could visit "Novy Svet" now.
The air is fresh and the water is turquoise,
I dream of a joyful summer.
I wish I could drown in the warm rays,
enjoy the intoxication of mimosa.
To the southern land, at least take a peek,
where blue dragonflies soar.
Alone, not feeling anyone's gaze,
In a mountain hollow, circling around the fire,
He walked in a dance, a magical Papuan,
Depicting someone's disputes with his dance.
He was having conversations with the trembling fire.
Curly, dark, with the sparkle of black eyes,
He was weaving a long story with his hands,
He was catching himself, swinging his attire.
