ZAN projects
Slavín II
Award
Annotation
The mother died and was put in the grave,
Orphans left behind;
and they came every morning
And sought their mother.
The mother was sorry for her dear children;
Her soul returned
and became a tiny flower,
with which she covered her mound.
And the little ones knew their mother by her breath,
They knew her and rejoiced;
and the simple flower, and in it they took comfort,
they called the motherwort.
The motherwort of our dear country,
you simple tales..,
I plucked you on an ancient mound -
to whom shall I bring you?
I will bind you in a modest bouquet,
with a decorative ribbon;
I will show you the way to the wide lands,
where your family is kindred.
