Поля  синiють  вечорами,
Рiка  говорить  з  берегами,
         I  так  таємно
На  небi  бiлiї  намети
         Димлять:
Вечеря  вариться  борам.
Все  ближче,  ближче  вечiр  суне,
Все  нижче  плачуть  травки-струни.
         Тихо  й  темно
Бори-поети
         В  хмарах  сплять.

љ Mike Jogansen

The fields get blue on evenings deep,
The river and its beds still speak,
And it's so white, like smoke in sky,
This is how pineries get seen.

It's closer, closer, evening comes,
It pushes forward to a place
Where grass, like strings, still drops teardrops,
So pineries, in quiet dark,
Still daydream of celestial sparks.
Their dream is long,
The clouds are strong,
This dark blue evening still goes on.

љ Adaptive translation by Maryna Tchianova