Poem of the day-8: 'The Oakleaf' by Petrus Brovka

The darkest clouds won't terrify me,
I can withstand the fiercest winds,
I cling to life, all storms defying,
As to its branch an oak leaf clings.

Through autumn rain and gloom despairing
It blazes with a copper glint,
And when a vicious wind comes tearing
The oak merely sways and rings

In winter, when the cold turns mean
And every night a blizzard blows,
The oak leaf valiantly screens
The mother branch on which it grows.

But when the spring its magic weaves
The oak leaf welcomes it, enthralled,
And ceding place to young green leaves
Upon the ground it softly falls.

Courtesy: 'Fifty Soviet Poets'
Published by Progress Publishers, Moscow
Translated by Olga Shartse