Renate Scoble

The terrace door of Grandmother’s house was beautiful; it was the door to paradise,
and it awakened my longing for travelling to distant lands.
The Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve was painted on the glass panels.
On the left, long-tailed birds dipped their beaks into yellow flowers,
while on the right panel the apple tree was covered in mouthwatering fruit.
Grandfather had opened the double door wide and attached a swing to hooks in the frame.
Swinging high, past the colourful birds, flowers and glowing apples, I sang my favorite song:
“The air is gentle, the valley so green, dear mother, let me travel into the wide world.”
I did not know that my wish would be granted but the paradise lost when, at last, I returned.
 
 
I did not know that my wish would be granted but the paradise lost when, at last, I returned.
“The air is gentle, the valley so green, dear mother, let me travel into the wide world.”
Swinging high, past the colourful birds, flowers and glowing apples, I sang my favorite song.
Grandfather had opened the double door wide and attached a swing to hooks in the frame.
While on the right panel the apple tree was covered in mouthwatering fruit,
on the left, long-tailed birds dipped their beaks into yellow flowers.
The Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve was painted on the glass panels
and it awakened my longing for travelling to distant lands.
The terrace door of Grandmother’s house was beautiful; it was the door to paradise.
 
 

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