Sleeps the lake; white-branched beeches
bend twisted limbs above
interweaving mirrored shadows
in its quiet dark depths.
Tremble, whisper white-branched beeches;
and it, still-standing, does not even flinch…
Sometimes only its surfaces
are startled by a shed-leaf-trace.
Pencho Slavejkov (1866 – 1912) Bulgaria
Translated by Birrell Walsh and Pavlina von Metzler
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