Crumbs Of Souls Poem by Maria Mitea

It is snowing today with Crumbs of bread,
the Crumbs pass through the air,
fall, and only where they do not fall,
and only who does not nibble on them,
every day a flock of birds flies
around a Crumb of bread, an anthill feeds,
***
There were so many of us around the table,
like giants in drops of blood,
my mother didn't scold us
if the Crumbs fell on the floor, rather
a sister or brother pointed the finger:
you have made Crambs, it falls from you,
not from me, from you, see how you scatter,
- I just swept around the house,

My mother knew how to calm us down:
'The Crumbs come to our house from heaven,
grandparents, grandmothers ask to be remembered
my dear children, it's a great pity to quarrel
or blame each other when you eat at the table,
- you know, we, people whatever place we pass
we leave behind us Crumbs,
you better call the birds to nibble at will,
and let the Crumbs also make wings.

(the transition between heaven and earth)