Autumn morning

Burning autumn tenacity!
Burning groves behind you
she leads single combat,
although he loses the fight.

There is a silent duel
but they clashed in it without joking
tight threads of cobwebs
with tight drops of rain.

And the wind, in this brawl
alarming the aspen forest in the morning,
throws leaves like leaflets -
give up, they say, as long as you live.

And surrender is the first sign -
whitish hoarfrost in the meadow.
Ah, birds, your song is sung,
and I can't help you ...

This is the landscape. And even if
you could voice it -
something central to the landscape
missing, and he died.

And all is not right, all is not good -
and this blue, and this distance,
and even a bird, for a bird -
minor detail.

But, as if rejoicing at the hitch,
while I'm talking to you
a woman in a scarf passes
on golden September.

She looks out for milk mushrooms
she listens to the silence
and reflections of this sadness
you can't see it in her eyes.

She is in the forest, as in the inhabited
full length and depth
transparent lake green,
where the trail runs along the bottom,

where, flying in from afar,
rays glide obliquely
and like a gold fish
a birch leaf is flying ...

Again knocking on the leaves,
but just as slow, quiet,
she goes,
and here is the beginning
paintings, music, poetry.

And the previous page,
where the colors are in the forests, -
then, to have something to compare
to her lips,
her eyes.


Yuri Levitansky.