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Why wasn't I born as a Nymph in the woods? Then it would be autumn sang lullaby to me.
Then it would be I have dressed up in colorful leaves,
in song of sources spring, in heavenly blue.
I could wake up in the spring and drink water from icicles,
that hanging from the branches of trees. I could to inhale sweet aroma of buds --
to live with spring, to enjoy flowers and herbs that come alive.
I could take a shower in the warm summer rains, to sing trills of enamored birds.
I could to watch as rye ripens in the field, to walk with sisters-mermaids.
Why wasn't I born as a Nymph in the woods? I could to join it for a winter sleep.
I could to wake up in the spring from bird' songs,
And to die from the fire only.