When swallows migrate to the warm valleys,
And then a snow sparrow sings the wintry song.
Malley! sits about her spinning wheel,
Skin freezing, nose red, but still sings the fairy song.
And Tom invites Gypsy's on thanks giving meal.
And quail, lays not the bright eggs any long,
And when bored wind blows over the trembling trees.
To please He, with a merry tune.
And Sweta, sort's out in chilly hours, the fun sundress
In her balcony, where the wet wind,
Ruttles and ruttle round the window.
And young pansy, still into asleep, yawns
That swallow is coming; running low to her loving home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem