It Is the Song of a Road

To Kerstin from Sweden My train is singing the song of roads. I see through a window: Yellow and red trees are seeing me off with sorrowful, mysterious eyes. The wet from a rain, the bushes, the grass, and October’s flavours, are telling me, «Maybe we shall never meet again.» I am looking through the window, There are a lot of old little houses under ramshackle, black roofs in lonely, poor villages. They are looking at this train, and at of me in this window. There aren’t many people in these villages, Almost never is children’s laughter heard here. But I think, somewhere, two old persons, a man and a woman, are watching the TY program of Sweden, And after that they are traveling in their thoughts and dreams, to that country. But they heard nothing about two Swedish people: Kerstin with Olle, about their little red house, about horses and the fields nearby. Yellow and red trees are seeing me off with sorrowful, mysterious eyes. My train is singing the song of roads.