She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.
She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.
Translated from the Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan
Anonymous Submission
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Human weakness of forgetting shortcomings of self magnanimously reflected in this meaningful and thought provoking poem.