Have you seen how pretty,

that trembled in an autumn wind -

a golden field  faded out in darkness

and lit squill candles.

 

Have you seen a man

Who shouted

out loud.

A field of blood was there earlier

and now it’s a field of poppies.

 

Do not pick them, my lad

There are flowers that are temporal

There are flowers who forever

remain with the tune.

 

Do not pick them, my lad

There are flowers who forever

remain with the tune...

 

Have you seen what has darkened there?

It's a field of thorns, my lad.

that was deserted in the summer,

and now it's a plowed field.

 

Have you seen what's white, my lad

It is a field of weeping,

Its tears turned into stone,

Its stones turned into flowers...

Do not pick them my lad...