In the story of the leafless trees,
all of them creaking as a single hinge,
it's narrating about both of us,
it's narrating about fire and ashes.
Two trees without leaves on the road,
as can be seen from the heights,
two trees through the kiss of scrum,
two trees bending down one to another.
Tell me, the forest with rare foliage,
where is the love of the past summer?
Winter does not know to have mercy
on us, the trees without a forest.
The whole summer has been full of fire
and stars were in the nights without stars,
in the autumn of waiting on the spot
the last leaf is falling toward them
In the wind I am stretching towards you
some branches, my arms they had been,
other doors creaking now can be heard,
to autumn winds the branches to cling.
No longer we are than two trees,
lumberjacks had arrived to trim us,
all poor children will take our branches
to keep the burning at their dying flame.
And even if you will love me still
after the winter cold wind coming,
without arms, with empty eyes,
I will have nothing to stretch towards you.