All through the day at my machine
There still keeps going
A strange little tune through heart and head
As I sit sewing:
“There is a child in Hungary,
A child I love in Hungary”
The words come flowing.
When I am walking home at night
That song comes after,
And under the trees in holiday time
Or hearing laughter:
“I have a son in Hungary,
My little son in Hungary”
Comes following after.
28.8.17