One late afternoon I walked by a church
The saints long buried and returned to the earth
Their peace, now broken, posterity's token, has given birth
A baloon entangled itself in a birch.
I could not bear to look away
Yet the past could not bare false witness
As I watched that iron gate sway, guarding nothing but time delayed
The fast no longer held, the progeny exuding weakness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem