…Most lovely your postcard:
Boats in a harbor of Portugal.
How lovely another card:
An old castle in Scotland.
And then that one with the hairy cows:
A lovely picture form the Isle of Skye.
And that blue one?
And that other one?
Basque Country!
A robust Breton on the backs of them.
No, they’ve not forgotten me.
…And yet, my Lord!
For want of hands my Harvest is being lost
With bad weather
With a wild wind.
…Those young people, vigorous
Possessing strong arms
All nimble-footed
How long would it have taken them
To harvest my little crop
My sacred bread-stuff? Scarcely
one short day…

August 1965.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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