The child of the Volga region,
White, like a butterfly in the pitch black night
And fragrant, like an incense in the dungeon,
You stand alone in all your royal might.
Born by the land of the disgraceful strangers,
So cold and wild, and by the Heavens cursed,
Within the glades and mountain ranges,
You dwell on the summit of the Universe.
Your life is sad, but hopefully,
You are a luminary for this World, truly.

June 14, 2012
Saratov