Prayer

Our dear parents

Aren’t quiet anymore

Procust’s bed

Has tortured and sold them.

Decline, destiny

To the thoughtful tomb

So fretful

What is going on?

Oh, God, take care of me

As these times are not familiar to me,

And waves strike me

My hair is grey and I feel that I am aging

Oh, God look after the Country

As it is in deep sorrow, God, and

Fierce wolves of prey are lurking it

And are chasing it.

Oh, God, look after me

Me, that who has no sun

But in holiday

Me, who has let

A forgotten arm at the Don’s Elbow.

Me, that who in the Tatra Mountains

Foreigners buried my father

Me, who from the Moisei

Has been in the grave with my people.

Me, who at Eve

Was rising a prayer

For Santa Cold not to come

But our sacred Santa Claus

Me, who thought

That work is the lordliest shield.