A bird is a bustle with the nest,
Time growing ripe,
Vintage is coming.

Grapes almost boil in the baskets
Noon, glow,
Sun in the Zenith.

Congeal air waving in the grain,
On the slops grass is almost redden,
And plum-tree is giving the bow.

Who filthy conscience has today?

Leonard Gorski Copyright © 2008