Acacias blossomed. The Summer was taking a walk.
Cub hares hid in the ravine investing it with their smell.
Bee chorus praised the light.
The silver waves of their song lolled in the rye.
That's when SHE came!
Along the dew-blue path between the grove and the rye.
Her ears were like two braids, her tail was wagging.
She rose to her hind legs, dew-wet.
All bones of the world are speechless before her beauty!
She eyed me with her lily-black eyes,
People get drunk on wine, and I was mellow with her.
The short instance of happiness.
Her trail led to beehives, where bees swarmed.
Months passed, the Summer trailed off.
I ran, drinking sorrow of the last days.
The path, the grove. All gone with time as with the wind...
And only HER - in my memory - as a forever candle!
Translation by Ivan Shevchenko
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