Golden fields stretch wide, Under the vast cerulean dome, The wheat bows in reverence, To the caress of the southern wind, Life ripples through the blades of grain.

And as dusk falls tenderly, Stars twinkle to the rhythm of night, The world sighs in tranquil slumber, Crickets sing hymns of the earth, In the quietude of nature’s embrace.

• Pāvels Rusovs