Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/16/2018

The sun bows low,
putting out the candlesticks of time,
it decorates white altars,
therefore winter is already close.

Wieslaw Musialowski 15/10/2001

A picked flower
Slowly draining
However it could never be
You or me

A change of mind
Withering and closing in
A last attempt of reaching out
For you from me

With petals lost
The flower's long gone now
And I get that
We will never be the same