Where cornflowers, like blue sky, Where rye has not yet fallen to the scythe, There a pathway of childhood runs And asks me to return.
Barefoot I will run along it, Embrace my young mother, Tell her of my dream And of what I share with no one.
Chorus: Where the pathway winds Through rye, through cornflowers, There childhood laughs In happy eyes. Carefree in the eyes So childhood laughs, Through cornflowers winds The pathway through rye.
I will don a field wreath, Hide the grain in my palms And return to childhood as if To my cornflower sleeplessness. There is no offense and sorrow, Neither sadness nor grief exists. Only the pathway calls me there, Where youth already awaits me.
