Go down to the underground gorge,
Telluric currents wake,
saved, Escape for your fun,
Save the baby on chest!
too late. Hollows in the sand
lies, heartbroken, mother…
A cold wind will be back
You, the fleeing, whip!
But you run! Save the child,
Close to him, wrapped in a cloak!
And uniform run - loudly
Budi, be, upland cartilage!
You'll have time to run to the term,
Leaving the sorrowful mother,
And on a rock, far from all,
Him - the child - to name!
21 November 1903
