When the river overflowed its bank
I only came up to my knees.
But time stood before me on its knees,
When the river overflowed its bank.

Because of me, a thatch roof floated
With a rooster on his throne of hay:
His cock-a-doodle-doo, his haughty way —
Just like a gypsy, fine.

Years later, cut away by a stream,
I saw it, sharp as an axe in a dream:
The roof is mine, mine.

Because of me, a floating oak made his mark:
He tried to take off his copper bark,
Thrusting his molars, his roots, in the flow.

Years later — I saw in Africa his scion,
Floating in the grass in the guise of a lion
Stalking a trembling doe.

But one thing I envy above all:
A piano floating, legs shot off, almost sank —
On it, Chopin wailed like a rain,
When the river overflowed its bank.

Years later I grasped that the piano in the flow,
With its black bent wing followed by a floe,
Was just a coffin swimming toward my fate —

And I was lying in that coffin dank,
When the river overflowed its bank.

1966