by Pavel Chichikov
I knelt before our lady
Go outside said she
There my Son and I were young
Into His mystery
There we walked admiring
Red flowers and the white
Turned about a rosary
To His and my delight
Fragile hands I held in mine
We danced a baby round
The sun made circles with us two
Of roses on the ground
Inside a silver garden
The last night of His life
He sighed to think of how we played –
Moonlight like a knife
Go into the garden
The blessed lady said
And think of how we played among
White flowers and the red
Turn to me in gladness
For now I see my Son
Walking in a garden
And flowers are my crown
