The river fell asleep

The river fell asleep, sleeping under the snow,
deign to rest tight.
Do not wake her with a light,
nor the darkness scare.

In the spring it will be awakened by a stream
streams of playful, melt water.
Will look with a blue sharp eye,
with a murmur a song will sing.

A white fleet will rush through it,
crushing everything, ice drift.
Along the banks, with a rook arrival,
suddenly, gently the willow will bloom.