Plain, my plain,
In the snowy immensity,
Do you hear the horses' steps?
Do you hear the sound of that gallops...
Plain, my plain,
Do you hear that distant voices,
The riders who, towards their fields,
Ride back home while singing under the sky.
Their songs tell about next seasons
And the golden wave of the harvests.
Fields, my fields,
Under the thick coat of snow
The earth encloses in her hand the seed,
Which will become the harvest of tomorrow.
Their songs tell about people, our sufferings
And sing the riders song.
Plain, my plain,
Go and tell the other plains
That sunshine and summers are coming back
For everyone who knows how to hope.
Plain, plain, oh my plain,
You may groan with wolves,
Hope is for us, stronger than anything.