Untitled #11 Poem by Janina Degutyte

Holy June, month of fields,
touch the grass-scented earth
with pure fire of lightning.
Blossom out with a shower -
as a silvery rose
in the fields salted
with our sweat.
May it wash our eyes
to behold the glisten of grass,
may it wash our feet
to stand a long journey.
Holy June, month of fields,
bless our hands
so that streams would not dry,
so that trees would not die,
so that corncrakes would sing
on bright nights
in the field of oats.