It is impossible to know for sure,
What kind of world do you live in?
We are very lucky.
hear nothing of
This is the world we live in.
W. Simborska—
Simboska
Now that I am no longer an outsider,
All the colors enter the sound and smell,
It sounds like a beautiful piece of music.
Why do I need books?
The wind overturned the leaves,
I know what they said,
Sometimes it will be repeated softly.
Death plucks its eyes like a flower,
Will never reach my eyes.