From a bird’s eye view, a turrets and cupola,
The rooftops of incomparable Prague are strewn with December snow.
Melodies of the autumn day were ordered to resound when
The thousand-year-old wines of this city have quenched the thirst
For distant journeys and impressions. Slowly
A park on a slope has dimmed like the palette of a fresco,
Musicians on the Charles River Bridge playing autumn jazz,
A distraught woman’s voice calling someone in Czech,
And for an accidental arrival who's already a bit tired,
Coming not so much from the new world as from one no one knows,
Life seemed more like a Dvorak symphony or a Secession period
Alphonse Mucha stained-glass window in St. Vitus Cathedral.

Translated by Michael M. Naydan