We are leaving our land forever, Our sailing may be long, and for many years... Let place the Fortune wheel crosswise at the stand, We are knowing all of stormís hitting beforehand. Be in hurry, old chap, climb the mast, Look for earth, the question is sharp, - May be you could see there a continent, Or it would be, at least, an island. Someone is having a thought to discharge, Someone is having a thought to retire, And the others again - in state of newborn, Are going not to rest, but to work forth. You may have covered with a veil your destiny, Laugh again into her face, simply, Someone has their own great continent, But someone has the only little island. I was earlier foretold of the trouble With a Queen of spades, was given a hope of finding The great continent, at last... But that didnít stand, I had fallen in love to find - own islands. Lo, the shore has appeared in front phantasmal! Donít be in a hurry - count inside up to hundred! Whatís there in the distance - the continent? Or my happy end at least - my island?
© Lyudmila Purgina. Translation, 2013