THE POOR POET

I was born in a thatched house
Amid fair and peaceful fields
In the prettiest valley in all Tregor
Through which calmly runs the Leger
The long of the wind in the high trees
In my cradle it rocked me.

I was born during the spring
When the cuckoo starts to sing
When the swallows are returning
Nests all around as well as singing.
The best music that I have heard
The longs and warbling of the birds!

I was born at the time of blossoms
When every hedge sports a garden
Golden trumpets in the meadows
Hedges full of hawthorn flowers
The first smile that I ever formed
Was at a silv’ry sunflower.

I was born in the morning
When the sun strikes Mill Hill
When the shepherd sings in the meadow
When the finch sings in the woods
When the lark rises in the air
To sing its hymn to Peter.

When I have to leave this World
Perhaps it will be one Springtime
Perhaps it will be inside my thatched house
In the fair and peaceful fields of Brittany
When the Sun sets behind the roses (This poem in breton





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