My second-floor flat is a home in the tree-tops,
Against the hard city great trees are a screen:
A chestnut, some birches, a huge twinkling aspen -
Their leaves in the sunlight dance golden and green.

Little birds are my neighbours – a ballet of bluetits,
Who hungrily gobble up grubs as their prey.
I love their soft twitter, their delicate colours -
And thank my good stars I am bigger than they!

Small as bugs in a meadow are men in a forest:
In its primeval darkness lurk dangers untold.
In the storm-winds great trees still awaken old terrors,
Though leaves at my window dance green and bright gold.