To the Memory of Friend

On Day of Victory, so gentle, dim and famous,
When Dawn is red as red is burning Flame,
Like Widow over Gravestone nameless –
Belated Spring’s in troubles all the same.
She hurries not to rise up from her knees:
Would breathe on Bud, slightly caress fresh Grasses,
Take off her shoulder Butterfly, the priceless,
And send her first Dandelion on young Breeze.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, July, 2002