When the grinder cut me,
we bandaged with sticky tape,
that’s what Rudi did before, went
on grinding the wooden chairs, checked
the wound afterwards, got plaster and salt,
cleaned the wound, fixed it ourselves, proud
of our prowess, Juliette’s mom scowled, Rudi
got angry - But you’re busy - I defended myself;
We need a hobby and grinding the wood of old
chairs is such good activity - He can’t forbid me
to learn to do woodworking; when the wound
kept on bleeding he took me to emergency,
stitches and medicine, I went to bed like a
naughty child, but Rudi with me,
it’s all that counts…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a penning pulling me in the saga of simplicy showing that yes it is the simple things in life that we often take for granted....'its all that counts'...well said, , , ,