He who is able can easily read,
The writing that appears among the rye,
Yet they go peacefully in a long line,
Along the edge of forest, following stream's course.

And they look around in silent rapture,
Wondering how to begin lives here,
Wondering, after years of pain and suffering,
How exactly here might come rebirth.

Suddenly through thicket they glimpsed the flame—
Tightened heart, despair, flashes of memories,
And a strange odor—Fear froze them in place,
They shuddered, terrified, and turned to stone.

Translation by Barbara Milewski