At times, hope in me rises,
at others, I fear what's in store.
Life is too full of surprises –
what's coming: be it love or war?
Some signs proclaim it is war:
comets, oracles, talks.
Others claim it is love:
the heart and feverish thoughts.
A comet flashes above,
headlines also do roar:
This spring will spring forth love!
Not love. Instead, it springs war!
This spring will certainly call for
much effort from the dove.
Spring, oh it springs forth war!
Not war. Instead, it springs love!
I while away troubled hours
reading the news on the trot,
plucking the petals from flowers:
He loves me... He loves me not...
Portentous, pregnant spring,
so different to others I've known,
Whatever the future brings
I accept and do not bemoan.
Come summer, I will finally see
which way my future extends –
both love and war, for me,
lead to absolute ends.
Longing draws from on high,
the radio delivers dread:
When I go, will I fly high
or down the low road instead?

Zuzanna Ginczanka