Junna Morits - "Just Tell Me, Dear Grass..."

Just tell me, dear grass, how come you to your place, –
Cut up the air in freshness of your mission,
Tell me about berth of superstition,
Where hides a fern the flower of grace.

Tell me the secret of your magic words,
Of your allure and hidden aspirations, —
With your green knifes, you lift, in your progression,
The concrete, lying in a few hard lodes.

You go through asphalt in full your rights,
Ready for flood, and ready to be frozen,
… Thus poetry has grown through the prose.
I pray, dictate me your great canon, Grass!

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/yevgeny/miscellaneous/morits/just_tell_me_dear_grass.html