Their hive [Stupul lor]
Their small hive, on glen below,
Is defended all around
By three poplars full of snow,
Rising from the snowy ground.
The beekeeper left them there
And the winter covered all –
Bringing sadness and despair –
With a nice embroidered shawl.
Yet, inside the cozy hive
All the bees, without delay,
As a single body strive
And work hard, day after day.
For they never toil alone
But together, all the time,
Buzzing on a lively tone
They make honey sweet, sublime.
poem by Tudor Arghezi, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by Octavian Cocoş
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