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Being the first on Earth to enter

this speechless winter,

snow crocuses and white swans

have skies and me at their feet.

Rising heavenward,

crocuses – over the soil,

swans – over the water,

not only they herald

the end of cold,

but also the beginning of a daydream –

in shades of lilac

I see Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake,

thousands of ballerinas in wilderness –

the purple fires

dancing with fully open bells.

When open,

the crocuses resemble


elusive figments of my imagination.

A seriousness of a special nature –

the swans

go faster than the clouds –

the disobedience and faithfulness at one!

Rudolph Nureyev sits down by my side:

“You live as long

as you keep dancing”.

The swans do rival

zillions of doubts,

they fill one’s heart

with happiness which

moves around

on burning pink or purple

pointe shoes.