all my poems in the seasons
Tuesday March 31, 2009
In memory of St. Elisabeth of Thuringia
In memory of the 800th anniversary of her birthday
on 07.07.1207 I wrote a ballad about this remarkable
Personality of the Thuringian country.
On the side of the path I went on the rock slope
when a voice sounded in me,
she told me about old legends
what happened here earlier.
The country was poor, the need so great
life meager and bitter,
what will become of all the people ?
tell me, Herr Graf, Herr Ritter !
You up there in the castle !,
Hey! You satas you forgot us ?
sits here on the round table ,
is already sweating from the food.
You don’t want to know how the people are doing,
only your prosperity, only your full belly,
you don’t want to miss the wealth,
Giving alms is no longer the custom.
Everyone saw hunger, destruction,
however, no one took action,
everyone saw the people die here,
just a brave one Mrs went on the path.
She went down to the poor, to the sick,
to heal, to help, to give,
which the belief in God broke through here,
through their courage their people got a new life.
The own ranks saw it with evil eyes,
how this woman tried and created,
the avarice, the greed, almost suffocated their work,
even her husband follows her on the path of sacrifice.
Here, yes, that was where it was,
here, I think it was where my feet are,
she gave bread and comfort to the poor,
I feel like I can see it with my own eyes.
Her husband, the count, saw it too,
when he secretly followed her here,
what she gave out of pure love and from the heart,
what she gave of his good, of his money.
When he challenges her here in the rock valley,
all eyes look at you questioningly,
is like the world stands forever,
whether she can deny your work before him ?.
No, it stands by your actions, your works,
she doesn’t go away and doesn’t give up,
which faith gives her courage and strength,
and things take their course.
See, the sick and the poor,
Mother, child and even the old man,
don’t want your heart to have mercy,
your wealth created your hard work.
What I gave here,
was not wealth, not your gold,
just the rest of your table,
my heart and will wanted it so.
Look, it was just alms,
Spoken it and opened her basket there,
no there is no bread, only roses,
that was all I gave from the heart.
Dearest woman, do not be angry with me,
said the count, her husband to her,
that heaven will redeem you forever,
God sent a miracle here.
The country here in your hair,
oh you my beloved intimate wife,
I gave you a year ago,
don’t want to offend you, I’m sorry.
Kisses and praises her here in front of all the people,
takes she with on his fast horse,
everyone saw it with great joy,
that a miracle has now converted the count.
A stone picture in the little grotto there,
a memory of her miracle and her life,
will you come here to this quiet place,
consider whether you can give something from the heart.
Even a little something can give joy,
brings life, love, confidence again,
don’t just always think of yourself,
shall teach you this miracle and mine poem.
Go !, maybe you will find this quiet place too,
maybe your heart can succeed here too,
that you, like me, bring her a red rose there,
Here you will find the following poems: Shut up, be quiet Do not stand by my grave and cry. because one is missing A little angel’s stopover…
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