Song in a Graveyard
The rich grass slumbers even in this place of death and the mounded graves seem not at all lonely.
The white bones must be shining brightly in the darkness within the graves. The fragrance of death must seem pleasant there.
Death which seemed so sorrowful in death at once loses its sting; in the tomb remains only the longing for the sun that will one day shine brightly into these graves.
Granny flowers are blooming in the golden grass; a bunting sings, — bee, bee, bae, batjong, batjong! — The bones lie in the graves, warmed by the spring sun.
The white bones must be shining brightly in the darkness within the graves. The fragrance of death must seem pleasant there.
Death which seemed so sorrowful in death at once loses its sting; in the tomb remains only the longing for the sun that will one day shine brightly into these graves.
Granny flowers are blooming in the golden grass; a bunting sings, — bee, bee, bae, batjong, batjong! — The bones lie in the graves, warmed by the spring sun.
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