V. Vasilyev

A tower stood on square’s stones,
A balcony hung on its side,
There stood a young lady, alone
And holding a flower white.
The gentleman passed by the turret,
And why did he pass by the site?
He carried away the square, stout,
The balcony with the high turret,
The lady, so charming and proud
And holding the flower white...


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, December, 2002