The Black Hen
To my son, Jean-Christophe, who died on July 18, 1990
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| The black hen in the vegetable garden
Cried out like a mad thing
The farmers came to see her
She said it was going to rain
They didn’t believe her, Lanturlu
My beautiful hat is lost…
| My little prince has gone away
To other skies, other valleys
Where one is always happy
Where the sky is always blue
I won’t see him anymore, Lanturlu
He’s lost at the bottom of the sea…
| When we die, nothing is over
We’ve simply left this world
We remain forever in the hearts
Of parents, brothers and sisters
We’ll meet again, my friends
It’s written that we’ll meet again…
|---|---|---|
| He had gold in his fingers
He was a prince, he was a king
In paradise for good children
He draws on the clouds…
I loved you so much, my Cricou
Why did you leave us?
| We all could have loved you better
We all could have been happy
I didn’t understand, I couldn’t get it
And time, alas, has passed…
I hear his voice, Tirela
I feel him right beside me…
| Death isn’t a problem
For humans, for those who love each other
One just needs to listen to their heart
Love never dies…
But love is here, Tirela
And will never leave us…
| He tells us we must forget
He tells us we must forgive
He forgives us too…
He who never harmed anyone
He was so gentle, my Cricou
He wasn’t mean in the least…
| When the wind blows through the wheat
In summer’s great shiver…
I think of his blond hair
It was so beautiful, so lovely…
I won’t forget, Tirela
I shall never forget that…
| The black hen in the henhouse
Cried out like a mad thing
The farmers came to see her
She said it was too late…
She fell asleep in the night…
A new star shines now…
