Polish Poetry



Do not tell me, please,
that everything passes,
that flowers fade
and roses wither.

Do not cry
when someone injures you
and do not kill your dreaming.

Better, tell me
how to cry so that no one will see
how to pray so that the Lord will hear
how to live so that when I die
something more will remain
than an epitaph on a slab.

Dagmara Mi da Tworkowa



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