On the Dnieper.
Still, it is narrow,
yet, in a wide bend
its course is presaged.
On its high banks repose
the bright domes of the churches,
mirrored in a
serene picture.
The ruins of many towns
line it,
and often rises, cankerous, still,
war's mark
from its flanks.
Above, clouds sailing,
white and grey,
from horizon to horizon
in wide order.
-
At the bridge head sitting,
stiff and silent,
from beard and hollows
his gazes lost far in the land
an old man.
Meanwhile a child,
his tired feet
hot and sore
from long escape,
cools them in the sodden sand.