How dry thorns on the roads

Still remember tired late summer

Stalk stubbles are getting lower

And the seeds are spread by the passing wind.

And among the woman’s curves in the morning dew

Carries far in a bride’s eyes,

Burn on the altar of words

Our exhaustion – night storm.

It seems we swept away without expectations,

To innocence and preciousness, without which

We will not be forgiven for all the mistakes

And all the vows whose time has come.

 

Soon, new shoots,

With hopes in the colors of the rainbow,

Will awaken to a great height in the rocky ground

To the listener of the wind and bringer of the rain.

 

And the aroma of spices already ambushes

At your window at the house next door,

Before the approaching holiday mean

You will go the prepared table.

 

Together we gather the deeds

And the signs that remained like prey,

For those leaving and those entering

And the forgiveness of the summer than has ended.