All the way home there was one thing

I was pondering:

The first thing to tell my mother

Upon my homecoming.

What shall I say to her that is

Nice, warm and has grace?

While the arms that rocked my cradle

She lifts for embrace.

Endless row of delicious thoughts

Pile up in my head,

Time is at a standstill

While the carriage speeds ahead.

I step into the small room,

My mother flies to me …

And I cling to her lips … speechless …

Like fruits on a tree.