I know, my tree won't live any a week,
I know, my tree in that city is sentenced to death.
But I am all time with it:
I'm tired of all the other affairs,
I think, that it is my house here,
I think it to be my close friend.
I planted a tree.
I know, that pupil could break my tree tomorrow.
I know, my tree will leave me certainly.
But in the time, when it is living, I'm sitting closely,
I feel a great joy, and pain also.
I think it to be my world.
I think it to be my son, indeed.
I had planted the tree.
Music of waves
I see the waves, washing away the steps on sand,
I hear the wind, singing its song strange,
I hear the strings of trees playing it -
A music of waves, music of wind.
Here it is hard to say, where is asphalt,
Here it is hard to say, what is a car.
Here you should throw a water up to hear:
The music of waves, music of wind.
Who could remember about those, that took the wrong way?
Who could remember about those, that were singing and laughing well?
Who could remember, feeling the cold butt, indeed,
Music of waves and music of wind.