The uphill journey ends.

Here, it seems just a slope to climb,

the last one of the tedious round.

The road seems to vanish

beyond the murky line of the sky.

Miles away from the town,

I trudged along in search of a small house;

its one room dark with the soot of fire

and the other room letting in no light from the sun.

I can already smell the aroma of early bread

being baked in the country oven.

Three little girls danced around;

their piggy-tails swaying in the breeze.

Their laughter echoes on the top of the hill;

they are the paragons of the soft and innocent glee.

Their gowns were tinted with sublime gold.

the dainty handiwork of mother's satin embroidered stitch.

I stand at the foot of the hill, dreaming of what I might see

of the small house away from the bustle of the town,

oblivious that time never stands still,

and who knows what I might find

there beyond the murky line of the sky.

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14György Fülöp, Dipak Varu and 12 others

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