Things in their enternal order

It seems that things are unchangeable for a child;
the hills by the river, the river itself
with its sluggish waters,
which wrinkles up
at for the sheer conjecture
of the possibility to changing,

also the brige which stays up to its knees in water-
a mammoth whith a blue hude.
Here is the children"s library, on the first floor.

Father sitting next to the child,
reads enternally his forever newspaper;
the child is sitting by the window
and looking out at the world from the red streetcar.
Both of them see different pictures:
for the child the world is monumental and unchangeable.

For the father the world changes too fast -
he remembers himself as a boy with his father
jast here at this place, where river is turning South,
at which place always was a library,
all the time a streetcar running with a child by the window
and a father next to a child.

The father is tired of changes.
He prefers to read the unchageable newspaper.

For the child, the world will rather turne upside down
than it will disappear
all these things in their enternal order:
the bridge - the library - the father - the newspaper and
indeed - the streetcar...

How he"ll be surprised some morning
when suddenly he"ll find out that,
when he wakes up - all old things have vanished:
himself, the father, the streetcar and the river
as well as that city and that country itself.