By Boris Poplavsky

Autumn the maiden's
Walked out of heaven.
The sky is blue
To its very brim.

The ship of the lonely,
Ivory-coated,
In tallest light-orbed seas
Sinks softly.

Under a birch tree,
Within yellow woods
A wonderful foresty
Jesus sleeps.

A rather shy rabbit
Looms right above him;
Warms up his paw
On a yellowy nimbus.

Autumn the Maiden,
O, you're so fine!
Just like that perished soul
Of mine!

You are so silent,
Much like that dawntime
Through which she was walking
Away from this earth.

Oh, Lord my God,
But how light I am feeling,
Falling so deep
And so far from this earth.

Inside a dark house
She was then living,
And unto no one
She did any evil.

Much she would sleep,
And then much she would cry;
She felt so good
When she happened to die.

If there's no Heaven
Or God that exists,
Then, oh, so sweetly
She'd sleep in the darkness.

Sweeter than sleeping
Inside golden Heaven,
Where to come after her
I am not fated.