The nature comes alive again,
The birds sing merrily,
The water rushes swiftly with noise,
And all around are happy.

Everyone became more beautiful,
And looks at the world more cheerfully.
Nobody writes poems anymore,
Melancholies are slowly… disappearing.

The park is green… as every year.
The paths are full of people.
A gaze… fixed somewhere to the side,
But bright and sharp… not sleepy.

Students went for a walk,
To breathe freedom again.
No one will ever know,
Which path they always followed.

Was it the one that leads to the forest…
And hides an intruder from the eye?
Was it the winding path of time,
Which disappears in the river’s depths?

Written by Regina Kwiatkowska (my Mom) on April 13, 1972
Translated from Polish by Karina Asper