Footsteps of the sentimental Autumn
are reaching the horizon,

again,
the nights get dark and blind,

beneath the clouds,
beneath the departing birds,

there is nothing,
but the existence
of insomniac thoughts.

Forget me not,

my transparent soul
reflects Your swampy lawns
and frozen creeks,

and the blue eyes of noon
are gazing through me,
like two forgotten lakes of the distant land.

In it I shall plant
all wishes and hopes,
and the impassive twists,

forget me not,

I believe, when I'll cross this mortal path,
You will be the first one
to lift my wings.