Here, listen!
Outside the city, by the very road, there was a dacha. Have you seen her? There is still a small garden in front of her, surrounded by a painted wooden lattice.
Not far from the dacha, at the very ditch, a chamomile grew in the soft green grass.
The sun's rays warmed and caressed her along with the luxurious flowers that bloomed in the garden in front of the dacha, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning she blossomed completely - yellow, round like the sun, her heart was surrounded by the radiance of dazzling white small rays-petals. Chamomile did not care at all that she was such a poor, unpretentious flower that no one sees or notices in the thick grass; no, she was pleased with everything, eagerly reached for the sun, admired it and listened to a lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.
Chamomile was so cheerful and happy, as if today was Sunday, but in fact it was only Monday; all the children sat quietly on school benches and learned from their mentors; our chamomile also quietly sat on its stalk and learned from the clear sun and from all the surrounding nature, learned to cognize the goodness of God. Chamomile listened to the singing of a lark, and it seemed to her that in his loud, sonorous songs exactly what was hidden in her heart was sounding; Therefore, the daisy looked at the happy fluttering songbird with some special respect, but did not envy her at all and did not feel sad that she herself could neither fly nor sing. “I can see and hear everything! she thought. - The sun caresses me, the breeze kisses! How happy I am! "
Many lush, proud flowers bloomed in the garden, and the less they smelled, the more they pushed themselves. The peonies puffed out their cheeks - they still wanted to become more roses; is it really a matter of magnitude? There was no one more colorful, more elegant than tulips, they knew this very well and tried to keep as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. None of the proud flowers noticed a small chamomile growing somewhere near a ditch.
But the chamomile often looked at them and thought: “How smart and beautiful they are! A lovely songbird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I am growing so close - I will see everything, I will admire enough! " Suddenly, “queer-queer-wit!” Sounded, and the lark went down ... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight into the grass, to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was completely confused with joy and simply did not know what to think, how to be!
The bird jumped around the chamomile and sang: “Oh, what a glorious soft grass! What a pretty little flower in a silver dress, with a golden heart! "
The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.
Chamomile was so happy, so glad, that it is impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared to the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed until the daisy recovered from such happiness. She glanced shyly and joyfully at the lush flowers - after all, they saw what happiness fell to her lot, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips stretched out, pouted and turned red with annoyance, and the peonies were just about to burst! It is good that they did not know how to speak - the daisy would have gotten away from them! The poor thing immediately realized that they were out of sorts, and was very upset.
At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp, shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped. "Horrible! Now they are finished! " Having cut the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it was growing in dense grass, where no one saw or noticed it. The sun went down, she rolled her petals and fell asleep, but in her sleep she saw a cute bird and a red sun.
In the morning, the flower again straightened the petals and held them out, like a child of a hand, to the bright sun. At that very moment the voice of a lark was heard; the bird sang, but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about the vastness of the sky, about the fresh green of the fields, about how good and free it was to fly free! The poor bird had a heavy heart - she was in captivity!
Chamomile wholeheartedly wanted to help the captive, but with what? And the daisy forgot to think about how nice it was around, how gloriously the sun was warming, how its silver petals glittered; she was tormented by the thought that she could do nothing to help the poor bird.
Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten; one of them was carrying a knife as large and sharp as the one she used to cut tulips. The boys went straight to the daisy, who could not understand what they needed here.
This is where you can carve a nice piece of turf for our lark! - said one of the boys and, deeply running a knife into the ground, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf; the chamomile found itself just in the middle of it.
Let's pluck the flower! - said another boy, and the chamomile trembled with fear: if they pluck it, she will die, and she so wanted to live! Now she could get to the poor prisoner!
No, it’s better to stay! - said the first of the boys. - So prettier!
And the chamomile fell into the cage of the lark. The poor thing loudly complained about his bondage, tossed about and beat against the iron bars of the cage. And the poor chamomile could not speak and could not console him with a word. And how she wanted! So the whole morning passed.
There is no water here! the lark complained. - They forgot to give me a drink, left and did not leave me a sip of water! My neck is completely dry! I'm on fire and chills! It's so stuffy here! Ah, I will die, I will no longer see the red sun, or fresh greenery, or the whole world of God!
To freshen up a little, the lark sank its beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf, saw a chamomile, nodded its head, kissed it and said:
And you will wither here, poor flower! You and this piece of green turf - that's what they gave me in return for the whole world! Each blade of grass should now be a green tree for me, each of your petals - a fragrant flower. Alas! You only remind me of what I have lost!
"Oh, how could I console him!" - thought the chamomile, but could not move a leaf, and only more and more fragrant. The lark noticed this and did not touch the flower, although it plucked all the grass from thirst.
So the evening passed, and no one ever brought water to the poor bird. Then she unfurled her short wings, fluttered convulsively with them and squeaked plaintively several more times:
Drink! Drink!
Then her head bent to one side and her heart burst from anguish and anguish.
Chamomile also could no longer roll up its petals and fall asleep, as the day before: she was completely ill and stood there, sadly hanging her head.
Only the next morning did the boys come and, seeing the dead lark, wept bitterly, bitterly, then they dug his grave and decorated it all with flowers, and the lark itself was put in a beautiful red box - they wanted to bury him royally! Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her, left her to die in a cage from thirst, and now they arranged a magnificent funeral for her and shed bitter tears over her grave!
The chamomile turf was thrown onto the dusty road; no one even thought of the one who, after all, loved the poor bird more than anyone else and with all her heart wanted to comfort her.
- Ромашка (ukr.)
- Ромашка (rus.)
- Das Gänseblümchen (ger.)
- Рамонак (bel.)
- Polny kwiatek (pol.)