Sitting by the cradle, next to my son,
I listen to the wind howl outside.
Winter is ending and leaving on frosty wheels.
I close my eyes and think of things I do not have.
These thoughts are like a worm
That burrows into my head.
My father’s painting hangs on the wall
And the yellow light picks up the brush strokes.
I concentrate on the oil painting and clear my thoughts.
My baby sighs and makes a sound like birdsong,
And my thoughts fall upon the future.
Life is sadness and joy,
As it is darkness and light.
This yellow room,
The painting on the wall,
The wind against the window and
My son dreaming in his bed,
But time moves on, seasons change and soon the morning will
Walk across this very roof.
Enjoy and be satisfied with what you have,
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