They separated you from your sweet dreams,

My sweet son,

Which like the flutter of butterfly wings

Wove for you, my sweet son, these sad eyes

Reddened from crying,

Painted for you landscapes

Of glistening autumn trees,

Embroidered with ocean waves peeking from  

Beyond the hangman’s tree.

They taught you, my sweet son,

Everything there is to know about your land

By heart,

So that you could cut a path with your iron tears.

You have grown up in the darkness of the ages,

Fed on the loaf of fear,

Trying Life on by the touch of all

That is most heinous along the way.

And you left, my golden boy,

With a black weapon into the darkness of night,

And you felt, as the hair on your neck stood tall,

The growing danger around you,

As each minute passed.

Before you fell, you made the sign of the cross

Over where you landed.

Was it a bullet or was it

A broken heart my sweet son?            

1944

tr. Caria T.