Translation:Baltic to Tatras, sonnets / III. Thunder (Their cook got sick)
III.
Thunder
(Their cook got sick)
Wave of the Baltic Sea you bringing me fishes in vain
And what good your depth to create?
I would take in vain, anything I wanted, you almost bring it on your own.
What good are fishes when there is no Cook?
As, Noah the Patriarch amidst the flood of the world
When the cook got sick on the boat.
He tears his hair, tears his robes, and wails the lament;
Who's gonna cook for his children tomorrow!
What shall to do? ! How to approach the famine disaster with level heads?
Already whole house's order loosens:
You, fly for the doctor, you others, for the cups!
The servant maids are crying in the garden of the beds
Husbands, women, and children, and nannies cry –
The doctor comes in – „Courage! It's just a stomach.[”]