By Vlad Kaganov
With the great bouquet once I was going,
And, suddenly, saw a fine flower aside,
In mud of ditch. Getting adorable,
I fell in love to it that time.
That was not rose, but a thistle,
The mere plant, though good looking.
So I said: 'Such a chance to pick up
This flower and join to my bouquet.
It will be like a king there, undoubtly,
In sights of the beautifullest ladies.
As if the eight world's miracle
It would shine in my bouquet.
I rushed to ditch, and frightened a bumblеbee,
Who gathered there a nectar,
But even my hand was wrapped up in a handkerchief,
It was hard hurted by the spikes.
I made all efforts to get out
The wild flower from dirty earth,
But, when I tore it up: 'Oh wow! '
It was not such fine, as I just longed.
It was so beautiful in gutter,
But on the air - lost its form.
As if the door unlocked - is rather
Not so mysterious, as when it's closed.
I felt a pity, that I picked up
The flower from native place.
It was so worth to be in gutter,
Where it struggled with its fate.
I thought: 'The harmony of being
Neither you, nor I could break'
And in this time the pain had pierced me
Into my heart... I gasped my breath...
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In russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/05/04/8218
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem