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Our language is a treasure
Buried in the deepest sand,
Chain of precious stones
That scattered all over our ancient land.
Our language is flame burning
Amidst brothers, awakened
From a deathly sleep, no warning,
Like the heroes of some legend.
A green leaf is our language,
Sounds of everlasting forests,
Gentle Dniester, which in ripples
Carries morning star's flickers.
Our language is sacred language,
Words of homilies of old
Wept and sung perpetually
In the homesteads of our folk.
A treasure might one day spring
From the deepest of the sand,
Chain of precious stones
That scattered all over our ancient land.