You sit at the round table of oak

Your hands pick up the cloth and thread

Reflected joy in your eyes

Is as that of a drunken man to a wench

Today two flowers bloomed

One pink and one blue

From Her garden and your seeds they grew

The cloth flows freely in your hands

The patterns and colors differing

As the many faces you command

As the doll creator

You know how to make clothes of fair folk

Straight and sure

There shall be no mistakes

She counts on her knight

Whom gave Her, her voice

To care for the small buds

As they grow into flowers

The frost comes soon

They shall need coats

They shall need hats

It is up to you, my friend

Whom, as the farmer, sewn their seeds

Like the thread in your hands

To protect them

The fragile plants

Your children born anew