Your pensive sigh is calling me
To warm light, to my native threshold
Where grandmother and grandfather sit on the porch
Awaiting their spirited sunflower-aged grandson.
Their grandson is slim and white as a birch,
With honey hair and velvet hands.
Except, o my friend, I see from his blue eyes -
They're only dreaming of his worldly life.
The bright Virgin in the icon corner
Beams joy into their darkness.
With a quiet smile on her thin lips
She holds their grandson in her arms.