If you somewhere in the deserted troubled night
Stumbled and go on the brink -
Don’t hide, don’t keep silent, shout to me until you are heard! -
I shall hear your voice, recognize it!

If you lie in the ripe rye with a bullet in your breast -
Have patience: I hurry - and the feet don’t feel fatigue!
We shall return there where the air as well as the grass heals, -
Only don’t die, only stop bleeding! ..

If a horse is under you, you race, ride quickly -
The dun horse will find the way -
There on the brink, where the lively springs always arise, -
They will heal your wounds!

Where are you - under lock and key or on the long way?
On which are you now at crossroads and crossings?
Maybe you are tired, depressed, got lost between three pine trees -
And cannot find your way back?

Here are such clean brooks under the snow -
One doesn’t find, doesn’t contrive anything more beautiful!
Here are flowers, shrubs, and trees - no one’s,
If we want - they are ours.

If you have difficulties going - to the knees in the mud
And over pointed stones, barefoot through freezing water,
Soaked with sweat, weather-beaten, full with smoke, singed by fire -
Doesn’t matter how, - going, reaching slowly, come creeping along!