The sky on this day -
is clear,
But now there are armours
rattling.

And above our earth -
droning began,
And the trees in the tar -
are sad.

Smoke and ashes stand
like crosses,
Nests on the roofs are not built
by the storks.

Spike - in the colour of amber -
are we managing?
No! In vain, face it,
we sowed.

What’s there in those colours of amber
shining?
That’s like fields on fire
cracking.

Dispersed to all sides
from calamity...
There are no more singing birds -
but crows!

And the trees are in dust
in the autumn.
These, that are able to sing -
stopped it.

And love is not for us, -
that’s true indeed,
What is more important now
than hatred?

Smoke and ashes stand
like crosses,
Nests on the roofs are not built
by the storks.

The wood makes a noise like always,
in the tree-tops,
And the earth and water -
moan,

But without a miracle -
it doesn’t work.
The prewar wood
sounds.

They dragged themselves away from calamity
to the east,
There are no more singing birds,
no storks

In the air are preserved noises
diversely
But now in there is -
roaring, clanking.

Even clatter
of horses’ hoofs,
If someone begins to shout -
then in a whisper.

They dragged themselves away from calamity
to the east, -
And above the roofs there are
no storks...