* * *
I have the feeling now that not your hands
but flowers touch me.
What a peal of spring dawns when you are beside me!
The spirit dons the gentleness of meadows,
the body makes no effort to resist it.
And wholly pure are water, bread and fire.
Let us speak softly or lapse into silence
and just with glances grow an upright tree
with rustling leaves of tender love and truth.
The birds fly home, and I now also fly
across the azure of your loving eyes
repeating vaguely only these few words:
The gods we sought to please let us forget.
The offerings we made let us remember.
Translated by Lionginas Pažūsis
Written by Justinas Marcinkevicius, LT poet
