Now come with mischief's smile that wrings my heart, I wait for you.
Blue eyes like rivers fed by springs, now come, I wait for you.
With brows like fine carved flaxen wings, do come, I wait for you.
You'll hear my mountain streams resound and echo in the sky.
I learnt you love sun-dappled glades,.thick forests all around.
I learnt that glades of oaks inspire emotions, warm, profound.
I heard the music of your heart—a vibrant, woodland sound.
To forest lands I make my way. A lonely pilgrim I.
From childhood winters you have known and must love what you know—
Aroma of the frosty air and magic skies aglow.
Your skis leave two clear trails upon the freshly fallen snow—
I now love winter, love the tracks you left on passing by.
When I discern upon the snow the traces of your skis,
And when I sense in limpid air your perfume on the breeze,
Then I am told by firs and pines, by all the trembling trees,
My Spring is near, her cheeks aglow, and mischief in her eye.
Let traces of your skis on snow forever be your sign.
Among the choir of winter voices yours let me divine.
My words, like driven snow, aspire to serve you, love of mine,
I thread them into simple verse to spring as you sweep by.
So if your ski-tracks disappear when blustering blizzards wail.
You may be sure in verse of mine you'll always find that trail.
For you have traced within my heart a love that cannot fail.
It tells me, dear, we soon shall meet, for Spring is drawing nigh.
When floods in Spring erode the snow and hide your tracks from sight.
When ever-anxious birds set out upon their migrant flight,
And you seek mushrooms in the woods I'll know the time is right
To ask the oak what tracks you've left among the reeds that sigh.
And then, I know, a breeze will rise upon the limpid air
To play with your translucent scarf and stir your golden hair.
Accept this gift of verse again, O birch-tree slim and fair,
These words were whispered to my soul by Tajik lands on high.