Pulls the Summer Sun

From the East pulls the summer sun
Her golden blanket over my country,
And weaves her carpet of flowers
Over the ancient hill, year after year.

No man brings here flowers anymore.
Even those who once were remembered here
Are by now long forgotten.
The repose seems time- and borderless.

I still live, stand here and enjoy
Sun and light and scent and air.
And think of you and see the colour
Which you returned into my life.

And I hear the riders
That once passed by
With their gods of fight and force,
And buried their heroes in hills.

And I see as the earth chambers
That led into the earth as caves
Rose up to hills,
And far at the horizon already
The tower of the church…