…The grandmother dozed off
Trembling with the cold
The embers half-dead in the hearth,
Covered with a dust-blanket of damp ashes,
Children entered,
Whose children?
It doesn’t matter. Children are always nosy parkers!
They noticed the bellows: a strange violin!
And with maladroit gestures
They made it flare up…
When the smoke rose to the mantle of the chimney.
The coals grew red.
Soon star-like sparks exploded.
The fire’s spirit awoke
With the breath of the bellows
And… the laughter of the children…
Festival of Gratitude to St. Mary.
Translated by Lenora Timm
