Through time, black soil
The marigolds will sprout
In spots of red and yellow
They will die there,
In our souls,
Like sons.... sons
That's me,
About those marigolds
That my mother sowed
And they, and they...
In the black soil with the marigolds
have already fallen.
I was afraid to work with marigolds with a small poem,
hoping to convey the idea better to the viewer.