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Oak leaf branch broke away from my homeland
And in the steppe rolled away, brutally persecuted storm;
Dried up and withered it from the cold, heat and sorrow
And finally, I have come to the Black Sea.

The Black Sea is a young sycamore;
With her whispering wind, green branches caressing;
On the branches of green rock bird of paradise;
They sing songs about glory king of the sea-maiden.

And the stranger pressed the plane tree root high;
Shelter for a time he prays with profound anguish,
And so he says,: "I have not an oak leaf,
Until the time is ripe, I grew up in the harsh homeland.

Alone and without purpose around the world for a long time I noshusya,
I have dried up without a shadow, I faded without sleep and rest.
Receive a stranger between their emerald leaves,
I know a lot of stories intricate and wonderful ".

- What do I want you? - posted mladaya Chinar,
You dusty and yellow, - and my sons are not fresh steam.
You saw a lot - but what me your stories?
My ears have long since tired and birds of paradise.

Go away before; a wanderer! I do not know you!
I loved the sun, color and shine for him;
The sky I spread her branches here in the open,
And my roots wash in cold sea.

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