The moon like a golden frog
Has sprawled on the calm water.
Like the bloom of the apple tree,
Gray hair has appeared in my father’s beard.
I will not soon, not soon return!
The blizzard will sing, ring, for long.
The old maple tree on its only leg
Is guarding the blue Russia
And I know, there is joy in him
For those, who kiss the rain on the leaves
Because that old maple tree
His head, it resembles me.