—There are four fine souls I know
Oh! Four distinguished children!
Who run around high and low
Throughout the year’s four seasons.
They jump in ditches
They fill up their shoes
They clamber to treetops
Oh! Nothing’s to be done with them!
At feeding themselves they’re not so bad
There they take delight,
They’ve beaten all the other lads,
They’re far from being erudite.
And when they return home
With their britches all torn
With their shirts in shreds
Within either hats nor shoes
Their father says then:
What have I done to God?
That he gives me as a penance
Four devils like that!…
But then their mother says each night
Her thanks to the good Lord
For those four little devils,
Full of energy and life!

To four future men:
Eildrig, Fulup, Yannig and Padraig C.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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