We Breathed The Air Of

We Mothers Rock Into The Heart Of The World The Melody Of Peace.

To Me, A Fairy Tale Seems To Have Become Reality.

World, They Have Taken The Small Children Like Butterflies And Thrown Them, Beating Their Wings, Into The Fire--

When Sleep Leaves The Body Like Smoke And Man, Sated With Secrets, Drives The Overworked Nag Of Quarrel Out Of Its Stall, Then The Fire-breathing Union Begins Anew . . .

Instead Of A Homeland I Hold The Metamorphoses Of The World.