By Sasha Chorny
Beyond the doorways' open flight
The squares of fields are swimming by;
The thickets swirl and waft with clothes of green,
And telegraph lines run in a monotone ridge..
Soft wind has brought a meadow chill right into the wagon.
But why so harsh, this cold song of the wheels?
Like gray birds, along the plank beds
Closely cling together the backs of silenced pairs -
People stare towards where
The earth fuses with the air,
While on their faces, with a sullen haze, shadows shake.
Kids are yelling and running in a crowd under the embankment.
Why so full of pity and alarm, this song of wheels?
The sky is gentle and clear like a mother, –
One is ashamed of biting paling lips!
One needs to forge from steel a new tough heart
And forget those eyes, which saw off the last wagon.
The greatcoat's cozy collar rustles beside the hair and the cheek, -
And why so tender, this lullaby of wheels?
- August 1914