Sonnet No 11

Tomorrow I'll see flowers white and I will dance with butterflies, On grass uncut between my knees. They'll call me pal and gladly I, Will love them back. The smell of yarrows will refill the empty sky, While their white blooms will coruscate both on the grass and in my eyes. Tomorrow I will sing again. I wonder what will butterflies, Prefer when it will come to music. I will sing while they will flap, Their whitely purple wings. And yarrows with their flowers white will clap, So I imagine even worms will have to wake up from despise. Tomorrow I will feel again inside my soul the butterflies, As if they are still juvenile. They'll pick my soul and fly up high, To clouds where yarrows bloom. Those yarrows that caress my inner eye, Will hold my soul and butterflies there in the transcendental skies. Tomorrow I will have to wake up when my skin will meet sunrise, And then again I'll say: »Tomorrow I will dance with butterflies!«