O God, who made me
To trudge along the road
To carry heavy loads
And to be beaten
Give me great courage and gentleness.
One day let somebody understand me¾
That I may no longer want to weep
Because I can never say what I mean
And they make fun of me.
Let me find a juicy thistle¾
And make them give me time to pick it.
And, Lord, one day, let me find again
my little brother of the Christmas crib.
by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold
Translated by Rumer Godden