The Rose is white as a snow thrive in the garden.
Her petals draw to the sun,
Its own beauty unearthlly wonderful,
Offering as a gift to all garden, so sincere.
The owner of the garden loves her too,
But didn’t wish to do the weedings,
The garden got neglected, Rose was forsaken,
Got on her own struggle with cold winds…
He got an other things to do in life,
Enrichment – target, was pursued,
And of his unconcerned, that garden, become desolated,
And got dry, the Rose,
which was wounded by the winds.
Athor: Galyna Brytan, Lviv, Ukraine.
Translated to English by : Ivan Kovalenko, Wellington, New Zealand.