The priests lead the peasants out onto an elevated plain. They plant them in even rows like potatoes, amid fermented hills, on a gentle slope. The linden trees dress up and scatter their leaves. The peasants want to lead the priests out into the field. The priests defend themselves with little white hands. They loathe this heathen sowing. He who has returned to dust shouldn’t start blossoming.
Zbigniew Herbert, trans. Alissa Valles.