The shards of love and its echoes
Did not become the trash of losses and failures,
Gathered into experience, like wilted cornflowers,
They changed weeping into a marital idyll.

Purity of relations — a fragrance in a flask.
Let the Caligulas laugh at the lack of debauchery.
Their crows in the sky and driven horses,
Not love, but poison in the kisses of their lips.

Family coziness and mutual trust
Are granted to you and me.
Not in vain do Shakespeare’s hints teach:
Better a flask than a heap of dung.