In the morning, timidly rises

The sun from behind distant mountains,

Begins quietly

A businesslike conversation.

Outside the window, dripping, movement,

All nature has blossomed,

The liveliness has not touched

My quiet brow.

A sheaf of rays scattered the drowsiness,

Slipped between the blinds,

As if a soft light scattered

A nightlight in the dark room.

I cannot awaken,

Tear myself away from sleep,

Though full-blooded spring calls

For a kiss.

I feel sad and unpleasant —

Life is shrouded in sorrow.

Two seasons, probably,

The calendar has mixed up.

If it were possible

To change the time of year,

Autumn would gently, cautiously

Begin to rustle with leaves...

Naked birches,

Scrawny bushes,

Neither enchanting mimosa,

Nor floral variegation.

I would be properly moved,

Because I am soft-hearted,

In a beer tavern, cynically

I would drink, cheer up.

I would desire a carnival,

So that times would change,

And full-bosomed spring

Would kiss me.

So why do I mope

And suffer nonsense?!

There she is! I am departing

For a rendezvous with spring!