For a few months now we are all witnessess,

The flowers at your tombstone are blooming already,

They are blooming with devoutness,

The tall Quiet Cypress trees, at the outskirts of your grave yard are nodding towards you.

How tough those cypress trees are.

And the thorns are telling that it is already fall,

Since spring time a whole summer has already lapsed

The emptiness you left is becoming more and more realistic

It's almost possible to grip it by hands and there is nothing to fill it.

Sometimes I seem to hear your voice beaten out from the clods

There is no replacement for you, I miss you.

A few months have already lapsed,

The cypress trees are witnesses.