Nature is not as you imagine her:
She's not a mold, nor yet a soulless mask-
She is made up of soul and freedom
She is made up of love and speech . . .
Observe the leaves and flowers on a tree:
Was it some gardener glued them there?
And is a growing child in the womb
The work of alien, external forces? . . .
They do not see and do not hear
They live in this world as if in darkness,
For them, it seems, the stars don't breathe
And ocean waves are not alive.
The sun's rays have not reached their soul,
Spring's never bloomed within their breast,
The forest does not speak to them
And starry nights are always mute!
And, roiling woods and rivers
With unearthly speech,
No storm's engaged them in the night
In friendly conversation!
They're not to blame: how can the deaf
Perceive an organ's sound!
Alas, their souls can not be touched
Not even by a mother's voice!