the snow still lies
and for me smells of the May
my inventive head is plaiting a garland
is singing a song
and is waiting for the May
finally to choke on the fresh air
above the seashore
from a distance from the noise
and when more time will be
for itself for us, not for mass...
to do what we have the willingness
to and then it we will already wait
for the autumn, winter
we will live to fight
another day
like every year...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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