by Pavel Chichikov
The deer were at their graze
And the robin with the speckled bill came toward
To see and let me stay
The deer were in their ash coats
Speckled dun, and curiously
Without alarm they stood and watched me
Not yet spring grown
Wind fallen too from equinoctial storms
The forest had no shade
It is our Lent, and nothing
Can molest us these few weeks –
What is it you seek?
Tell me, tell me little ones
Docile, unafraid
How is the Resurrection made?
How from this destruction
Can the living one arise?
The deer watched me with soft eyes
There were four does, a fawn
They listened, stood their ground
And did not make a sound
But the small birds in the scatter
Stirred and tossed the leaves
Looking for the end of last year's seeds
On the night that He was born
The deer had speech
And we could teach
And on the night He will arise
We will be silent then
Observe with our soft eyes
But the birds will take to flight
To all the quarters of the world
And tell the silent night
