My day's allotment of people
Papa, Nicki and me
At night we all hang by a thread
Don't worry, one day there'll be childhood
Above all no end
He who labors on our plane becomes a nothing
Table, chair, corner, slat
There must be more than that
One day we have a summer
One day a spring
We have just now
Just now we have
Played music
That was easy
Papa played the flute
Nicki held her finger to the glass
The sound, she says, goes into the finger
When it's all over
I put my finger to the glass
Not even summer do we have here
Translation: Susan Bernofsky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem