© 2002 photo by Carmen Ezgeta: Koza - The Goat - Die Ziege ( Poreč )

Cetiri ure je mati hodila
pedeset miljari koraki je ucinila nataste.

Tako je dosla priko brigi i drag
h meni u grad
i donila glas
da je koza krepala.

Doma lezi starica baba,
i mala sestra je bona.
Hiza priz zita, prez muke, prez solda
i krepana koza.

Jopet mijari koraki
Svaki je korak pun skrbi.
Ma kako se moru tolike duse prihraniti
od place jenega diteta u gradu?

Tri dana nis hrane pokusija
tri noci za kozon sam plaka
i dela u ognju
cetrnajst ur na dan.

Ma daleki cesar austrijanski
i veliki car od Jermanije
nisu ni slutiti mogli
ca misli jedan mali covik,
ki cilu bozju noc proplace za kozon.

Four hours my mother walked,
fifty thousand steps she made fasting.

Over hills and valley,
to me in town,
and tell me that,
the goat had died.

At home my old grandmother,
a small, sick sister,
and a house without wheat, flour, money,
and a dead goat.

Another thousand steps,
each step full of care,
how can so many be fed
from the pay of just one child in town?

Three days I did not eat,
tree nights cried for the goat,
and worked in the furnace,
fourteen hours a day.

Not the far off Austrian Emperor.
Not the great German Emperor,
can even begin imagining,
the thoughts of a small man
crying all night for a dead goat.