Instead of whom does the flower bloom,
Instead of whom, then, am I?
Whose skin has the sweetest perfume,
Whose song needs my sigh?
Should the grass over my grave
A blossom yield to the sun,
The eyes of a few a lone tear will bathe,
And honey will be given to some.
Vlado Kreslin (tr. from Slovenian by Tamara M. Soban)