My Field, My Field
Fragment of a very old song
O my field, my field!
Ploughed with bones,
Harrowed with my breast,
Watered with blood
From the heart, from the bosom-
Tell me, my field,
When will better days be?
My field, O my field
By my grandfather won,
Why dost thou not give
Me the means of life?
Bitter toil! with my own blood stained-
My heart's blood is there!
How bitter for me, my field,
To look on thee!
Done in English by
Structure
17 lines · 3 stanzas