There's bread at your table. Your children
are the joy of your home.
Early is the world awake in your eyes,
your day you enter good-willed.
Yet something tortures you at late nights;
and the bed is soft, the childern - sound.
You fall asleep athought
that there's something still you didn't do...
That thought is always there when you wake up,
and strenuous your road is moving.
Your shoulder weighs still heavier,
the thing you look for - closer comes.
[Velichko Enev]
Превод: Стефан Стефанов
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