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Description
(fullview recommended, otherwise her mouth looks strange)

somewhat inspired by "bosonogaya krasa" - a song by a russian folk-rock band called Vozvrashenye.

below is a meagre effort at a translation, by yours truly, though I feel it loses much in my clumsy hands.

A girl stood barefoot in a street corner
Her face - freckle-flecked, her little figure - nothing to look at
Chest heaving with heavy breath, and from beneath her brow
Eyes burned like the orange leaves
Of step-mother Autumn.

What have you to complain about?
What manner of grief?
Foolish one, give it up,
Your temples aren’t yet touched with grey!

The young men would walk past, laughing together.
All fine to look at, all masters of fancy.
But every glance is like a pin-prick to the heart,
As it is plain to her what lies behind their faces.
And every word to her
a chisel chipping at her chest,
Molten lead
Spilled onto her hands.

Her face darkened with the wind and the tears
And with every journeyman (who stayed) she withered more, as though she were a branch…
She fell to her knees, as though she were a penitent
Or so thought the passers-by…

…And at dawn, having broken a heel of bread
She poured the crumbs into her sleeve
Flung out her arm, and the flock took flight into the sky
Leaving only white down to fall like snow.

O, fly away into the starry night
In pursuit of the lost Spring
O, sow the earth with seeds,
With gilded grain!
You, who are as a shed tear-droplet,
O, become a salty river
And go seeking after vanished beauty
In the blue of rushing currents…

The crumbs-in-the-sleeve to produce a flock of birds is a folktale motif, except it seems that here she herself becomes the birds... The song seems to imply that though she can see too clearly, she tries to accomodate other lives in hers - hence all these journeymen, in passing through whose hands she withers away.

An alternative interpretation is that she is left alone, her looks (not much to start with) withered away, and works miracles no-one discovered to console herself, sending out folk-tale birds not to amaze anyone but to look for her wasted youth.

Anyway, the drawing above is my slant on her...

Description
(fullview recommended, otherwise her mouth looks strange)

somewhat inspired by "bosonogaya krasa" - a song by a russian folk-rock band called Vozvrashenye.

below is a meagre effort at a translation, by yours truly, though I feel it loses much in my clumsy hands.

A girl stood barefoot in a street corner
Her face - freckle-flecked, her little figure - nothing to look at
Chest heaving with heavy breath, and from beneath her brow
Eyes burned like the orange leaves
Of step-mother Autumn.

What have you to complain about?
What manner of grief?
Foolish one, give it up,
Your temples aren’t yet touched with grey!

The young men would walk past, laughing together.
All fine to look at, all masters of fancy.
But every glance is like a pin-prick to the heart,
As it is plain to her what lies behind their faces.
And every word to her
a chisel chipping at her chest,
Molten lead
Spilled onto her hands.

Her face darkened with the wind and the tears
And with every journeyman (who stayed) she withered more, as though she were a branch…
She fell to her knees, as though she were a penitent
Or so thought the passers-by…

…And at dawn, having broken a heel of bread
She poured the crumbs into her sleeve
Flung out her arm, and the flock took flight into the sky
Leaving only white down to fall like snow.

O, fly away into the starry night
In pursuit of the lost Spring
O, sow the earth with seeds,
With gilded grain!
You, who are as a shed tear-droplet,
O, become a salty river
And go seeking after vanished beauty
In the blue of rushing currents…

The crumbs-in-the-sleeve to produce a flock of birds is a folktale motif, except it seems that here she herself becomes the birds... The song seems to imply that though she can see too clearly, she tries to accomodate other lives in hers - hence all these journeymen, in passing through whose hands she withers away.

An alternative interpretation is that she is left alone, her looks (not much to start with) withered away, and works miracles no-one discovered to console herself, sending out folk-tale birds not to amaze anyone but to look for her wasted youth.

Anyway, the drawing above is my slant on her...