Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/15/2018

When morphine was not a drug anymore,
And the wind outside the window howled along in pain,
Grandmothers were counting how many beads
After severe winter bleed on the viburnum.
To draw some blood from veins, said one;
The second, that the pressure in the clock will fall
And she won't be able to count how many more hours must pass
for the boat to arrive that takes you to the Afterlife;
The third said - to the Brim of Bliss,
And here kingscup in a human quagmire
bloomed in May, when New should be born
everywhere, and coffin trees?

Wieslaw Musialowski 12/7/2015