A rich imperishable soul,
Having given the perishable away to the last,
Kept only a chipped chest
With treasures inaccessible to decay.

With a farewell little ray the thread burned down
In the last little drop of wax.
In the middle of the night a small candle
Became a lamp on the altar
Not under the table, but high above,
A life-affirming testimony
Of enormous growth.

The mortal will say: “It’s gone, for it burned.
Such is the end of each of us.
God has nothing to do with us”:
“It truly shines,” — the living one will not lie.

(under the impression of Alla Pugacheva’s interview for Kateryna Gordeeva)