*** (And I Still Miss These Times...)
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 6/16/2019
And I still miss these times,
these images in the depths of the soul,
on coarse canvas, as years ago,
of fences made of pinewood,
children at the table with a slice of bread in their hands.
And the yard surrounded by the woods,
old well with a sweep covered in moss,
rich plumes of shady wild fern,
the people around so joyful,
because the only thing they need
for happiness is the generosity of the land,
if the winter was kind,
April dry, without frosts,
and May abundant in warm rains,
this noble gold of July's harvest will compensate
them the hardships of long hours spent in the fields.
And after exchanging in the city,
it will be possible to buy a simple
cloverleaf, and to be sure that
everything's going to turn out fine*.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 6/30/2017
* nothing hurts anymore, nothing brings pain anymore.
Topic(s) of this poem: country,countryside,longing,nature,past,pastime,remember,remembrance