Blessing of Women
Walking among your women
And often you smile uneasily:
Anxious days have come.
The poppy withers white along the fence.
Like your belly so beautifully swollen
Wine ripens golden on the hill.
Far away the pond's mirror gleams
And the scythe rattles in the field.
Dew rolls through the bushes,
The leaves flow down red.
To greet his beloved lady
A moor approaches you brown and rough.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt