Rechushka Basandaika

Basandaika rivulet,
in the abandoned wilderness -
flows calmly
you, too, don’t rush -

say shes not beautiful
simple, not big.
There is a powerhouse hidden in it,
flows from afar.

And in spring it’s stormy,
gloomy - not for nothing.
A playful stream runs,
there is no progress without a bridge.

And by summer it will calm down,
and seems to fall asleep.
On the rifts, gently,
will sing murmuringly:

about endless life,
wooded banks,
about coastal willows,
and about river affairs.