Long time ago, when Moon was younger

And stars at night too bountiful to number,

The Sun commended its ferocious heat

To one young girl - the gift was bittersweet.

Naive, the girl accepted with desire

Oblivious to devastating fire.

On Summer nights about love

She talked to stars that shine above.

And waking up when birds still doze

She whispered tenderly to roses

That were enchanted by her voice

And opened petals to rejoice.

On warm Spring days when flowers bloomed

And birds of thousand colors sang their tunes

The fire blossomed in the fledgeling soul

And prompted it was time to reach the goal.

She soared high above the fruited plains

To shine with stars, devoid of earthly pains,

Plunged back to Earth, to silky bed of roses

To find in fragile petals her repose.

The girl believed with all her simple heart

That rose embodies love’s exquisite art.

Oblivious to the hidden woes

That lurk in shadows of both love and rose.

One day she’d want to get too close to rose,

And hold the flower to her heart exposed...

A sting, a cry of pain, a drop of blood

And... rose is no longer symbol of your love.

Naïve, her soul had not the slightest clue

That love can also make the people blue:

Not always fireworks and festival of joy

Sometimes it may a trusting heart destroy.

The thorns of lovely flowers tear the flesh,

Blood flows freely out of the gash.

It takes forever for the wounds to heal

But we cannot contain romantic zeal.

Long time ago, when Moon was very young

The stars revealed half-truths and held their tongue

That time may come when lonesome, grieving soul

Will no longer want to join their ball.

From distant Earth a pair of saddened eyes

In dead of night when stars forget to rise,

Will be a grim reminder of the years long gone

Since that obscure Spring when Moon was young.

By Liana Margiva

Translated from Russian by Anatol Kardiukov.