Cross on the sands – a poem by Hanna Chrzanowska
I do not know how much, my God,
You’re still prepering me time.
Maybe I will not go to the forest,
to the pine forest.
Maybe they will not come to me
I will not finish this prayer,
I will not see the sun on earth,
Because today’s rain can
Will he have no end to me?
Or maybe you’re still prepering for me
Years long, long ranks,
My hair is used for my hair
Whiteness as the first snow?
Prayer of your Son
“let your will be done”
Do not be scared that in me, Lord,
A silent pleading request:
Do not let the hand of death fade
The sharpness of my gaze,
Let me look with joy
In playing your spaces:
Let me not cry while dying
Hardened human pain,
That I will never see again
How to laugh is laughing green!
Praise be on your rainbow
And among the smell of lupine
The size of your sound,
A chorus of birds and seraphim!