A sunflower dozed under a poplar-tree
and it enchants our chest
with fragrant kisses of sun.
It adorns us with ripe love sighs,
like soft clouds quietly
we too on golden fields
begin to grow shyly.
From the height of celestial cheeks
under the poplar-tree the sun is dripping
with yearning of birds
it embraces the wheat with gaze,
and our fingers
are twisting the warm treetops
and with stream of dark red apples
are getting our bodies changed.
Young orchards are arising
and while we are drawing one part of sky with our smile,
like the wind, the grass is swaying our hips,
and the red of cherries is dressing our lips.
A sunflower dozed under a poplar-tree
and we are intoxicated by love . . .