In Polish Lands

Koro Saloniko

1944

Trees cry for rain
And mountains for air.
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother;
So cry my eyes
For you, dear Mother.
I turn and I ask what will become of me.
In Polish lands
I am destined to die.
White you are and white you wear;
White is your face.
White flowers fall from you,
From your beauty;
White flowers fall from you,
From your beauty.
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