IN A TINY CRADLE

(translated by Karin Pečnikar)

In a tiny cradle

of the crescent moon

I nurse hope.

With every night

the cradle is stronger,

with every night

hope is stronger.

My hopes fly high –

sadness burns in them.

The cup of the crescent moon

is low beneath me.

I pour my tears into it.

But the crescent moon

shines brighter and brighter.