To my daughter Rebecca, at her ninth birthday
Today the snow has sung in a tinkling
and from all the day’s butterflies the fly sprang out to take a walk.
The shadow’s baby goats have no horns yet
and their gently playing does not remind one
of wolves and dangerous steeps. I want my mom
and Jesus takes my hand and takes me to her.
Full of flowers, the stairs are sill growing, step by step,
and no one knows yet why my eyes are blue.
I’d like to wish myself „Happy birthday” and I’d like
the whole world to do just the same but the world’s not all mine
so I wait for the bus to leave and cross the street.
Neither the street and nor the playground are all mine
but the playground’s joy surely is.
And so is the place next to my bed:
there I go to sleep after I pray for mummy and daddy.
And for the bread and for my teddy bear.
Dear Lord Jesus, why do the grown-ups have dayaches?
Please, make at least my birthday not to hurt and make it sunny
so that I can play! My steps are still small,
they don’t not match mummy’s steps
when we walk through the snow, yes
mine are somewhat silent.
But look, the spring is coming
and everything is melting.
Just like when Jesus’s coming, isn’t it?
Translated by Andreea Luncan