In a hollow valley, On hallowed soil, In a little stone house Swept neat and tidy by a little straw broom, A baby is born in my Pavlysh. Restless birds Sing at the dawn of life. A child, Sucks in vain on a crust of bread, On his mother's withered bosom. Dust rises from the earth, In my Pavlysh.
Old men take the sun, smoking what they've rolled.
Tired women hang themselves out on the lines. This, too, is my Pavlysh. In my Pavlysh people sing and people dance. There is dirt on the old men's shoes. The women laugh so hard, so hard they cry.