For my son – translating the poem into English:)


Early on a winter morning,

Young rays of the sun

March into my house

To have a lot of fun!

Without e’er an invite,

Through the bare window

They clamber down my bed

And scamper over my floor.

In a game of make-believe,

They pretend to be my furniture.

Suddenly they stop in their tracks

And preen in front of the mirror.

They creep under my sofa.

And in their faces bright,

I spy a collection of dust,

Hiding from my sight!

Giggling, they run to find

Every dirty nook in my room,

Getting in my way, as I

Go looking for my broom.

They visit my dining table glass

To draw  patterns of  my chair.

Before you can even blink

They are dancing everywhere!

Now, this really is the limit!

Using  my chair as a ramp

Some climb  on to the ceiling

Disguised as a lamp.

 They chuckle, having fooled me

Let them snigger all they will.

They’re welcome to my house

For it is winter, still!

But,  when summer comes,

Let no one have any doubt.

With thick curtains and blinds

I will shut them out!

 (And then it goes all philosophical – but forget that!)

Author: Mads

In alphabetical order: daughter, mother, painter, philosopher, poet, quilter, seeker, wife...

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