I made you a

waistcoat,

from the finest flea market cloth,

stitched with golden thread:

but a Viking wind struck,

– the thread was pillaged,

Seized from my grip and dragged

through the bay window:

Waistcoat wrapped, mercilessly to the Apple Tree.

 

In the morning, the tree stood tall,

though withered from the storm;

offered the waistcoat back like a peace offering-

The Gods had decided:

That evening I set fire to the tree;

As the funeral pyre burned,

I said goodbye to you.

……………………………………