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Der Scharlachrote Tod

de Kroda

The first furious thunder peals
Are piercing the fresh air -
Such as always it was, in the spring on Our Land
Thunderstorms are washing the last snow away…

The wardrums of Spring are beating -
This rataplan sounds with rains and thunders.
That drums are messengers of the first grass,
Cold mists are coming with them side by side.

On the rivers, the mud blurred ice melting down,
It is carried away with a streams -
No reason to resist - Spring is coming;
Inevitable is ices death it s being broken and crushed

On the trees branches somewhere there are
Blackening leaves that left from the autumn…
Nothing will remain - Spring will sweep all away
With hailstorms. And burn all decrepit.

It s smoke shalt exalt to the height,
Where blue skies are streaked with clouds:
Wind rushing down from Carpathian mountains
Shalt momentary tear the smoke in pieces…

Wind from the mountains brings the Spring on,
Sowing it's snowdrops in steppes over Dnipro,
For he's still remember this sorrowful land
That he chained in winter with frost.

Wind brings the Spring to the Ukraine
From Carpathian mountains to the glorious Don river!
In summer it shalt blossom in Thcigiryn woods,
And in autumn return back home…
By rains...

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