You’re entering

My homage

For yet another bride,

whose name was not remembered.

But transformed into a symbol

Of 11 birch trees

- A place

Where she would rest

For the last time.

And as the shaman king,

Whose braids went down to his ankles,

Would adore her breasts

While feeding their son,

I will take a sip of her milk

And prepare a feast,

Where we look through the history

- A narrative

That could be ours.