On a clear morning on a quiet pond

A cloud, a white cloud with a pink edge
Swam suddenly, turning pink with the last fire.
I realized that I was not sad about him,
And the sunset seemed to me - paradise.


On a clear morning on a quiet pond
Briskly swallows are flying around,
They sink to the water itself,
A little bit touching the moisture with their wing.

On the fly, they sing loudly,
And around the meadows turn green,
And it stands like a mirror, a pond,
Reflecting its shores.


And, as in a mirror, between the reeds,
From the banks the forest has overturned,
And the pattern of clouds leaves
In the depths of the reflected heavens.


A golden cloud spent the night
On the chest of a giant cliff;
In the morning on the road she rushed off early,
Playing merrily across the azure;


But there was a wet trace in the crease of the
Old Cliff. Alone
He stands, thought deeply
And he cries quietly in the desert.