Did you see – I was in sickness.
I picked up some foul.
There is plenty on stihira,
For ears and eyes.
There are many beautiful poems,
But a few are gold:
About Christ and His forces,
Clear, saint from God.
At last now I’m healthy
And to play I want.
Race in soul at my house,
Jump and prance and hop.
No one can now possess me,
Don’t want any dirt.
And to You, My God, now blessed,
Pure I’ll return.
I will do as you have asked me,
How you explained.
Only Your force saint and godly
Conquers any pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem