You, fields of grass
Place of interment
For our old bodies
Tired of travails
You are ours witness
And the last confessor.

I have seen you
In the springtime
Rapture as green fire
The wind hitting
With its bare foot
In the rising flames
Stirring your power
What is for longs dead
Can be born again.

Now the gloomy earth
Is sick and suffers
Under the rusty pedestals
Of the hazy sky.

Sun has fell in love
With another planet
Far away, but you,
Field of grasses,
You have remained loyal
Pious earnest mother
To cover with a green
Warm blanket
Our tired bodies fallen
Asleep in the Lord.