And it seemed it was time for us to die
somehow, right now, this afternoon, but the apples
were abundant that year and ripened
before autumn really showed what it was made of.
Even the water shoots arced into branches.

And now the sun is happily drinking water
from the puddle at the gate and from the burdock
-sized leaves of the lilac, but it’s not warm enough for that,
the day smacks of humidity. Again the magpie chatters
in its own way, and old friends, one after another,

will deny us, and we would be the last
to want to hinder them, but neither
to overlook this, because then how would the others cope,
left high and dry, without a word from us.

(Translated from the Polish by Christian Hawkey and W. Martin)