I was immersed in a sea of clover,
Surrounded by the fairy tales of bees.
but the wind, calling from north,
My child's heart found.
He called on the battle plains -
To compete with the breath of heaven.
He showed me the way to the desert,
Leaving in a dark forest.
I go on it Kosogorov
And I look forward relentlessly,
Ahead of innocent gaze
My child's heart is.
Let your eyes grow weary sleepless,
sings, zaaleet dust…
I love flowers and bees
Not told a story - a true story.
18 February 1903
