My neighbours, for pities, - a two blocks more, Old women, for customs, – until the gate, But he, whose hand was in mine afore, Will go with me where my pit is settled. And will he, alone, stand on the ground - O’er the black, native and mellow soils, And loudly call for me, but won’t resound Him, as before, my warmhearted voice. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August 6, 2002