TO MY BLACK COMPANIONS

Ah! To return each time to a house empty and cold,
To a house whose door is locked and windows closed,
A house in which no one ever awaits you,
Not a Christian, or father, or mother, or relative, or friend, or anyone,
Where you hear no footstep in the courtyard save your own,
No response to your voice. There’s no more sound from Kubele 9
Yet, during the day, as quick as your foot,
Are your mute companions. There are your two good dogs,
Rivalry between them as to who will have the better position,
Who will dry, with his tongue, the tears in your eyes,
Who will eat from your hand, who will sleep against your feet,
To let you know that they love you completely.
They will read your look. They will divine your thought.
They converse during the day. They keep guard at night.

Faithful hearts, humble hearts,
That tremble with a soft word, love in their regard.
How precious you are to me. Ah! A benediction to the Father
To have created for humans such fine companions.

September 1970

9 Kubele, the mare.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton





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