Now June begins. Rain from May's
Last night poured in.
Slow and pattering
And sad.
O mother! You slept while
The rains were drizzling!
But then
You have been sleeping slow.
The end is coming.
Call me not.
Call me not.
I will be coming.
Now another new month and
The guillotine falls more
And more.
Another month, another small
Survival,
Yet no joy it has brought, but
Pain
Pain more intense and
Suffering.
My mother, worry not,
I will be coming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem