For as long as I can remember,
The windows always glowed for me,
In the room filled with quiet spring,
And embroidered towels on the wall.
In that sacred, peaceful chamber,
A child’s heart would read and know
Shevchenko’s kind and watchful eyes,
And golden patterns in a row.

Mother, your children are like birds,
Spreading wings into the sky.
Mother, to your tender room,
We’ll return again by and by.

That endless childhood temptation –
Open the door and you will see,