The Oak’s Monologue

I walk into the Nedohir forest.
There, a mighty Oak awaits me.

Its strong branches stretch high and wide —
A green giant rising with pride.

And beneath its welcoming canopy,
It calls to me:
— Come closer, do not delay.

The time has come, indeed,
To tell you at last

What the winds have whispered
Through my branches for so many years.

For two centuries I have stood here,
Growing from Nedohir’s hand.

Into my trunk, into my limbs,
Flows the strength of his spirit.

From his undying thoughts,
A murmur lives within my crown.

Against my green and mighty shield,
The harsh dry winds have broken their wings.

My kin have spread far and wide,
Holding back the roaming степь winds.

Where only feather grass once grew,
Golden harvests now arise.

Where sands once crept and swallowed land,
Trees now grow in quiet grace.

The people honor all my kin
Across the lands by the Inhulets.

Look around you, friend —
See how beauty fills these shores…

The green patriarch fell silent for a moment.
Something ached — perhaps a memory returned.

From sorrowful thoughts,
Leaves dimmed and withered in his crown.

His thick bark trembled,
A heavy sigh spread through the forest:

— Oh… what a terrible time it was!
I cannot find peace even now.

Pain grips my very core
At what the invaders did here…

So many trees fell then,
To fire and to the axe.

And when they drove people into the forest —
Even the memory chills my sap.

The Inhulets ran red with blood and tears,
Its waters bitter and heavy.

One day, wounded and exhausted,
A partisan found shelter in my branches,

Hiding within my dense crown
From the enemy’s pursuit.

The enemy could not break him.
He fought until the very end.

And when his bullets were gone,
He leapt with a grenade into their midst…

Once more, the patriarch grew quiet,
Gazing fondly at the young oaks.

And in the clear blue sky above,
White clouds drifted like doves.