🚧The book of spring
Пятрусь БроўкаВедах беларускіх
Translated by
THE BOOK OF SPRING
The spring in silks, in motley clad, Has come to thickets, to the field, Has come — and shedding winter’s rags, yhe earth appears in dishabille.
Has come — awoke the echoing stream, Has come — the bush with candles blazed, Adorning all with blue and green — You know, she has exquisite taste!
Like a little bell, the welcome lark Is sewn upon the heaven’s blue veil.
Spring set the swarms of bees to work, ‘Cross slumbering strings has swept her nail.
Still dearer on the brightened moor
The twitter of flying flocks resounds.
The stork, like a «TU-104», Returns with dawn to native grounds.
All day she spent in willing toil,
Her house without a hammer built,
While sap from birches drumming fell From troughs, and into jugs was spilt.
Beneath the sun the furrow shines, The tractor turns the clods on edge, As if it were the opening lines Of Spring’s new book he open spreads.
Translated by Walter May
н гтп vu 1i Шіо і н tw1 нішмі i mi t hi
M* 104