Here you will find the Poem The Leaf of poet Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
A little oak leaf tore off from its branch Was driven o'er the steppe by a cruel gale; Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow It finally alit by the Black Sea shore. A young plane tree stands by the Black Sea shore; A whispering wind strokes her green boughs; On her green boughs sway heavenly birds Singing the praises and fame of the queen of the sea. The traveler lit at the soaring tree's roots; Anguished he pled for a moment's shelter, And these were his words: "I am but a poor oak leaf, Matured before my time in a grim homeland. For ages I've wandered without a goal, all alone Without shade I withered, without repose, faded. Would you welcome this stranger among your emerald leaves, I know many stories of wonder and wisdom." "But why do I need you?" the young tree replies, - "You are dusty and yellow - ill-suited to my wholesome young sons. You've seen many things - but what use do I have for your tales? The heavenly birds have long wearied my ears. O traveler! Be on your way. You are a stranger to me! Beloved by the sun, I bloom and shine for him; My boughs are spread in the heavenly fields, The cool sea refreshes and washes my roots."