I've learned to live simply, wisely,
To look at the sky and pray to God,
And to take long walks before the evening
To tire out unneeded worries.
When burdocks rustle in the ravine
and bunches of yellow-red berries hang,
I compose cheerful poems
Of perishing life, perishing and beautiful.
I return. Licking my palm,
a fluffy cat purrs sweetly
and a bright light flares
on the turret of the lake sawmill.
Only rarely piercing the silence,
the cry of a stork, flown down to the roof.
And if on my door you were to knock
It seems to me, I wouldn't even hear you.