At the End of the Road

Where the river turns a bend,

And the wood comes to an end,

you shall find a winding lane,

veiled through lightly drizzling rain,

blue, red and purple flowers,

Autumn leaves and springtime showers,

Summer tempests, winter snow,

many wonders does this lane know.

And then, a cottage, hidden by brambels,

where the wild wood squirrel seldom rambels,

but warm light smiles from within,

inviting travelers; „Come in, come in!“,

though who lives in this lonely abode,

at the end of a desolate forest road?

Not you, nor I,

Unless you live in that lonely abode,

at the end of a desolate forest road.