Towards little literature
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Return to homeland, 1945
After grievous years of separation
now I see my dearest native fields.
When I watch my land, for ages longed,
I want do my former job again.
You, my land, are so great,
young and powerful and always now
with victory, with peace.
We shall do everything for your glory.
I lived under those oldest rowan-trees,
full of fruits in golden autumn times.
But my songbird waits behind the window,
sadly glancing to the passing road.
Post a Comment
Post Comments (Atom)