Wspomnienia Franciszka Matysiaka - "Kupiłem bukiet nieduży..."
Not a big bouquet did I buy, The florist asked for “not much”. Gillyflowers, carnations and roses, And now – I know not for whom. I carry it confused, And angry with myself. I walk like a groom To a maiden that is not there. I let the beggar earn, The silver-haired jaded woman; And I think of my mother, So forlorn in this world. How does she mange there on her own? All alone, without support from anyone. Does she have bread everyday and a dinner? Does she wear shoes without holes? Or does she too praise bouquets in the streets, Crying out in a soundless voice; Or does she sell newspapers, Matches or cigarettes? Will I still see here after all these years, In Kałuszyn, outworn and poor… ? And thus I bury my sorrow in flowers, That in my hands do wither away. 14th August 1943