The river

If I find you suddenly, In the field of the soul that I have not shortened, I'll throw the sickle away, As if nothing had been seen. I'll take you with both hands, I'm not strong enough. But power will come to me, That even for a thousand years you will hold. When the image of both of us is reflected, Above the river, I'll see my childhood sorrows there, And I know it's all over now. Then the river was drowned, Because you do not need anything anymore. Your hands and hands will become one, And the rest would be a dim memory.