A thunder stricken shrub on a grey hill it rests,
Like a dark almighty giant. And grassy ribbon dense,
Twists around his shape. And playful mountain breeze
Sways the bright flowers and trees.
Then winter comes along, and with its frosty arm
Tears all the charms and strips the mountain bare
But many more winters with a cold wind will come
And he will still be there.
Vojislav Ilić (1860 - 1894) Serbia
Translated by Betina Rašić
Source: Serbo-Croatian Poetry Translation
Another wonderful find
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