Spring of the Dead

Roots start to stir

Trees and bushes.

Snow has thawed from the grass

And crosses.

 

Beneath the spring moon,

Defrosted bones

Kick themselves awake

And wander the graveyard.

 

Skeletons crawl from

Cramped, slimy holes.

Men in white outfits—

Some women, too.

 

The men shake hands

Then withdraw in the lunar garden

Where earthly things

Speak like this:

 

Rustlings. Sighs. Whispers.

Rattling of bones.

But from the depths of an alley

A mournful mumbling can be heard:

 

“Madam! I’m afraid

I’ve got some bad news for you:

Alas, my body has decayed—

So there is nothing left of me to love!”

 

1910 by Sasha Chernyi (translated from Russian by me)