The reeds rustled, the trees bent,
And the night was dark.
One pair beloved
Walk all night until the morning.
And they got up in the morning,
Around the grass is shabby,
Yes no only the grass is wrinkled, -
My youth is wrinkled.
You come home and the question will be:
'Where are you going, where have you been? '
And you say, walked in the garden, ,
'I do not found the home path'.
And if the reprouch is to you home
Then you come back here...
She came: he isn't there,
He will come never.
She closed the eyes by the handkerchief
And began to cry loudly:
'Where was gone my beauty?
Whom else I gave the happiness? ..'
The reeds rustled, the trees bent,
And the night was dark.
One pair beloved
Walk all night until the morning.
Rustled the Reeds, Trees Bent -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem