the rising of the sun’s rays.
And the day will be replaced by a clear,
And the burning look of your eyes.
Rose smiled at dawn
Rosa smiled at dawn,
Like a girl, smile flower.
I saw her in the radiant light
In the caressing arms of the breeze.
Beads shone drops of dew
On delicate petals.
To myself lured branches, braids,
Curly curls leaf.
Quietly Ray, mischievous boy,
Sneaked up to Rosa and lit the dew.
On the neck of thin beads flashed,
Sorceress, giving beauty.
And before me arose from Rosa Fairy,
In her grandeur of pure beauty!
The smile of the flower, alley,
So smiled rose, like you.
Dawn in the forest
Morning fog lay down
In the lowlands and meadows.
Cool nights he kept
In fragrant sleeps stacks.
The forest over the river in silence froze,
Peaks of breathing.
And dusk through the woods wandered,
And the mystery was near.
Dawn in the forest caught me.
In the glow of gold,
Sunrise fire was already burning.
With the beam “spoke” then.
Here the beam touched the blue
And flooded the sky with light.
And the forest, waking from silence,
Suddenly, by singing birds he answered.
And finally, at his feet, he fell.
Trembling on the green grass.
The mist from the lowlands gray drove
And turned around in the afternoon fun.
Rain
Noisy Rain sings to me outside the window,
Lulling middle of the day, out of place:
– You forget the sweet dream…
And wets the leaves.
– Thou don’t flatter the to me rain,
Thou of fields of flowers and gardens,
To make them better bloom,
And in the gardens stood shoots.
But rain stubborn noisy pours
And the song is brought to the end.
What does he sing his song about?
Let everyone find the answer himself.
Butterfly
Butterfly flew into the window.
And beating in it, knocking on the glass.
Why rush her, because it is durable
And a century to him from the wings does not open.
Why strive for space,
Through a solid transparent barrier.
Isn’t it better to just settle your argument?
Finding in inaction delight.
Dream and believe in the best moment,
When the window itself suddenly opens.
In that near and far world,
In which you lived and crave to find yourself.
But all the same wonderful world of the glass.
The window itself will not open.
And the butterfly prefers to fall afterwards,
Now continues to fight!
Poplar
He was tall and slim and powerful.
Dropped foliage in the fall at times.
The spring ray caressed him warmly.
In winter, the crown was covered with snow.
He was a lighthouse in the distance.
As an obelisk was visible a mile away from the village.
And, flying past, cranes:
– Kurly! Kurly! – Shouted in his honor.
Sometimes we boast with childish pride:
– A hundred years to him! And it will be a hundred to stand!
But a pile of firewood suddenly appeared.
— And where is the poplar?! – Children do not understand.
Early Autumn
Amber spilled over the foliage,
The trunks of the oak forests are blacker.
Transparent air. In the blue
The forest appears, and the distance is more
