The weather picked up,
The thundering cloud was approaching,
The oaks started to rustle and bend,
The feather-grass raised up in the fields.
That is Gamayun flying - the prophetic bird -
From the side of the East,
Raising the storm with her wings,
Flew from beyond the tall mountains,
Flew from beyond the dark forests,
Flew from the underbelly of that thundering cloud,
She flew over the blue sea,
She flew over the Sarachin’s field.
Just as by the fast river Smorodina,
Just as by the hot-white Alatyr’ stone,
In the green garden on the apple tree
Gamayun-bird sat down.
As she sat down - she began to sing songs,
She stretched her feathers and touched Raw Earth.
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