As a youth, I picked flowers from the meadow
And carefully brought the bouquet back home,
But, warmed by my hand, the flowers
Bent their heads to the ground.
I placed them in a glass of fresh water
And what a miracle it was!
The little heads lifted themselves back up,
The leafy stems flowered green,
Altogether, as healthy as though
They still stood on their mother ground.

For me it was like hearing my song
Sung beautifully in a foreign tongue.