В природе что-то нет любви к стенАм,
То лёд, то сырость посылают нам,
То солнцем камни сверху поливают,
И с каждым днём прорехи расширяют.
Охотники - другая передряга,
Пришлось ремонт устроить после них,
В запасе не один, на камне камень,
Там кролик прятался, собаки визг,
Подняли. Ничего не завалилось.
Никто не видел, что там сотворилось,
Весной исправить сразу невозможно!
Я сообщил соседу осторожно,
Что надо нам переступить черту
И просмотреть забор начистоту.
Когда идём, мы держим меж собой,
Любой валун, с таинственной судьбой.
Похожи на буханки, на шары,
Должны найти момент для их баланса:
"Пока не отвернулись, там останься!"
Несём их от земли и до дыры.
Грубеют пальцы от такой игры,
Однако. Но не сдать ли малость взад:
Где мы сейчас, нужна ли там стена?
"Там – в хвое всё, здесь - яблоневый сад.
Уже судьба всех яблонь решена -
Под соснами - твоё", - а он мне вслед:
"Хорош забор – хорош и сам сосед!"
Под соснами
© Copyright: Вячеслав Толстов, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117010306896
Свидетельство о публикации №117010306896
Рецензии
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.'
Вячеслав Толстов 03.01.2017 17:22 • Заявить о нарушении
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.'
Вячеслав Толстов 03.01.2017 17:22 • Заявить о нарушении