N. Vanhanen

I’d once simply said it there –
she could hear it entire – 
I like when spring love can wear
its flourishing white attire.

She raised her eyes, filled with azure,
and looked with a hope, breathless,
just her lips of a teenager
were lit by a smile of sadness.   

Since then, when in May sundowns
I went through the square’s cool wideness,
she was by the door of her house – 
the solemn and dressed in whiteness. 


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2002