What unique works, what times of sorrow!
What hardship, hoping for tomorrow!
What diligent work like a man on his field
Restless waiting for harvest and yield
What yellow the flowers, what dark blue the sky!
What flaming cypresses, living houses nearby!
What loving the poorest things around
Admiring nature, to her he is bound
A field in the morning, a café at night
Portraits reflecting a deep insight
Old shoes that tell of everyday life
And olive groves of fate and strive
What surging waves on the wide blue sea!
What starry night appears to me!
What lonely man spreading his treasures
For us to admire, enjoy a great pleasure
Die Kälte lockt den Willen, meine Kindlichkeit zu leben,
wenn der Winter seine Pracht mir vor die warme Haustür legt.
Wie ins Geheim, im Stillen, tanzen Flocken mir entgegen,
dass mein pochend [ ... ]
Ich spreche nicht von dem, was war,
die Vergangenheit wiegt viel zu schwer.
Was uns verband, ist nicht mehr klar,
Gemeinsamkeit trägt keine Spuren mehr.