A friend of my harsh days
My decrepit dove!
Alone in the wilderness of pine forests
For a long, long time you have been waiting for me.
You are under the window of your room
You grieve as if on a clock
And the needles hesitate every minute
In your wrinkled hands
You look into the forgotten gates
To the black distant path:
Longing, premonitions, worries
They are crowding your chest all the time.
It seems to you ...
