I write this to you – what more is there?

What more can I say?

Now I know it’s in your will

To disdainfully punish me

But you, to keep for my poor fate,

Maybe even one drop of pity

Would not leave me abandoned.

At first I wanted to be silent:

Believe me, you would never have known my shame,

That I had hope,

Even rarely,

Even once a week,

To see you in our little village,

To hear your voice, to hear your speech

To utter a few words, and then

To think, think of only one thing,

All day and night until we next meet.

But they say you’re not sociable,

In the wilderness, in the village you’re bored,

We … don’t shine with such manners,

Even though we welcome you with all our heart.