I am standing at the noontime of your life,
A stalk bent with fullness in the middle of a field,
Which has already shed its green June-shirt
And is growing into the golden sureness of the days ahead.
The sun frolics with bluebells on distant meadows,
The summer is fragrant with the bitter scent of wild poppies,
With steaming, hot soil
And with my hair.
And when the day entwines itself in my blond braids,
And the evening gathers the pearls of dew,
Than my brown body falls to your feet,
Like the stalk which breaks before the reaper.
(Rachel Korn)
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