POEMS

N.Filimonov

The green and woody steep is lying still,

All quiet are asps and golden-branched pine-trees

Remembers silent wolf a sniffing light breeze

And watching deer slinking up the hill.

Approaching home - oh, what a dreadful sneer!

The laboured fruit - and could it be more hideous!

The one and real prove of human kindness:

The rows of barbed wire we warily rear.

The surface of the lake as smouth as mirror,

Where anglers are engoing fishing minnow,

Although the bilig has already changed.

There in the shadow of the trees around

Two cemeteries lay upon the range,

And near them - the sunny youngling - town.

K.Smirnov-Vasilev

Oh, do not blame mistrustful strangers,

Let them repeat the words they have heard

And think my country's variableless,

And see its view all grey and cold.

But come and look! All bright and fluent

The sunbeam's touching leaves again

And wakes the country - light and dewy,

Disproving them who never knew it,

Haven't see it in a proper way.

L.Leshukovitch

My city's rising up towards the sunshine

The star's put out by dawn breaking neath;

The rain is touching sleepy branches

As if it has to count all the leaves.

The moist bough is knocking at the window

And leaves the turquoise drops upon the sill

The sunbeam flashes as the wind blows,

Entanglies water threads and makes them thrill.