And the sun seems to disappear in the west in beeches crowns, it sinks in green and the night like a king sits upon the throne and it shimmers in moonlight.
And nothing has changed - ages are passing: the moon has not grown, the sun has not diminished, hunter and hare do not count the stumbles, no beginning will ever meet the end.
The crows are cawing though I do not know what - allegedly they carry foretaste of winter and it so happens that my eyes water, because time turns winter's birthday
into the autumn's funeral. The last travelers will sit for a moment as before the journey the strangers sat with the household members like a daisy with the most beautiful rose.
And so is the Earth that there is enough space for everyone, enough water and air, fire and ash: for the rich, the beggars, for those experienced by fate - without favoring - it will host everyone.
Wieslaw Musialowski 6/14/2008
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.