Demyan Bedny
The Young Forest

A landowner, some years ago,
Went driving through his woods, which made a splendid show.
        His coachman, Filka, on his perch
        Looked strong of sinew and of bone.
The landowner admired the woods he called his own.
«Just see my saplings, Filka: pine and birch!
My boy, this is a forest, eh? Look round a bit:
This used to be a waste, but now just look at it!
That's where good switches grow — hop down and fetch a few;
The peasants need their drubbings — rods will come in pat.»
«Mm, yes," drawled Filka, "yes... the very thing for that...
Just let them grow... they'll make stout clubs, I promise you.»
        The moral of this tale is clear to any cub:
        Years passed, and every switch became a club.

Translated by Babette Deutsch