Mittwoch, 3. Februar 2010

Story telling

My Grandmother was telling us stories
Quiet we were listening
You could hear the own breath
Form her life she was telling sad and glad stories
She told us what happend to her as she was in childhood
She had to leave her parents in the age of five years
Fare from home by her uncle and aunt she was grewing up
They couldn't get children
That was the reason why they took her to their farm
She got the house and the land from them, as they got old
But they treat her badly
They were not kind
They didn't love her from the heart
She was missing her parents, siters and brothers
I always got tears in my eyes, as she told us about her life
She was a pretty woman
She got onehundred years
A blessed age
She married my Grandfather
After marriege, one month he had to go to the first World War
He returned
My Grandmother was painting pictures
She also was writing poems
She was the one, who leads me
She was the one, who supports my love in poetry
The nature so close
The house of my Grandparents is close to the forest
Farming they had
Horses, Cows, Chicken, Pigs and Cats
Bees they hold in the basket to get the honey
Hills, green madows and cornfields near by the wood
Singing Birds, eagles and woody woodpecker
Swallows in the summer
The house of my Grandparents stand still on the place
I remember very well the time we share togehter
Sometimes I visit my cousin
Near by the river in Upper Austria - Waldzell.

Zäzilia Mayr

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