For they have sown the grains of words in me.
And where the silver waves of Ikwa flow so mild,
I used to be, just like Sophia, once, a child.
Now I have left to roam in lands so far,
A winding path is now my only bower.
Oh bring to me some brightness of that star!
Oh bring to me some fragrance of that flower!
I need rejuvenation, so come back to me
From Poland as if from the skies. I wait for thee.