The fields are blue
and gloom in moonlight.
The hills are gray,
the rocks are black.
And from the sea
the golden track
runs towards the sandy beach
so bright
embracing hard
the water neck.
It is so still,
the winds are sleeping
in their deep caverns
far away.
The grass is damp
after the rain,
and the mysterious mist
is creeping,
as if my dreams
of love again
creep like a snake
into my brain…
But at the daybreak
my dreams’ chain
will be by winds
torn off to pieces...
And I will thank
the morning breezes.
Moscow
March 13, 2006
|
|