Her three sons
left for foreign lands.
One went off to Canada,
another to Australia,
and the third, the youngest,
went to Germany.
The years were difficult
in their beautiful homeland.
You leave your place behind
when you have no hope.
The brothers were separated,
and the little cousins too.
Their mother was left alone,
wandering through the fields.
With a pair of borrowed oxen
she worked the land,
together with her older brother
who was left alone as well.
They kept in touch by telegram:
“What shall we do with mother?”
In the village there were only the elderly,
and the church bell rang without end.
“The one in Australia is too far,”
they said. “Mother won’t endure it.”
The journey would be too hard,
and his house was far too small.
The one in Germany was closer,
but his expenses were too high.
He lived a harsh life abroad,
with many children to provide for.
The third, the one in Canada,
loved his mother deeply.
“But the cold there is bitter,” he said,
“the old woman won’t survive it.”
Their mother stopped writing
for a long, long time.
Her hands had begun to tremble—
she had already gone blind.
At last, all three decided
to go and visit her,
and take this opportunity
to divide what would be theirs.
Whoever would take the mother
would receive the greater share.
When they arrived in the village,
the bell tolled in sorrow.
A shiver passed through them:
“My God… has mother died?”
Many years had gone by—
they recognized no one.
Many houses had collapsed,
the rest stood in ruins.
When they reached their home,
villagers dressed all in black—
they had just missed her.
They kissed her…already gone.
Sklithro-Zelenich-Sebalći 