Miroslav Válek - The parade
It's eight o'clock in the morning,
the apple trees blossom, the dogs guard next to the doors
and the winds sleep.
I don't feel like thinking of rhymes,
I inspect my conscience,
like the old album with your photos,
which you no longer resemble
and which you forgot long ago.
Don't worry, I'm not going to disturb you long.
Everything is in order,
lay down your arms !
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