The Year 1934

The happiness of youth is pleasant to remember. Only the river doesn’t age. The windmill has collapsed, capricious winds are whistling, unconcerned. A touching wayside cross remains. A cornflower wreath like a nest without birds upon Christ’s shoulder, and a frog blaspheming in the sedge. Have mercy upon us! A bitter time has come to the banks of sweet rivers, two years the factories have stood empty and children learn the language of hunger at their mothers’ knees. And still their laughter rings under the willow sadly silent in its silver. May they give us a happier old age than the childhood we’re giving them!