Endless downpour; misty wood; Fir trees swaying: Oh, dear Lord! - as if the wood were drunk, Rain-sodden. At the window of the dark lodge A child sits drumming with a spoon. Mother sleeping soundly on the stove; A calf lowing in the damp passage. Gloomy lodge; buzzing of flies... Why does the wood ring with birdsong, Sprout with mushrooms, blossom with flowers And vegetation bright as grass snakes? Why does a round-eyed child, Weary of the world and of his lodge, Drum his spoon on the windowsill To the even patter of the rain? Calf lowing; dumb calf. And the mournful fir trees bow their green branches: Oh, dear Lord! Oh, dear Lord! |