Be happy if your mother still
lives in the house behind the mill.
When youthful struggles slowly fade
your soul can yawn, you've got it made.

She smothered you with mother's love
sang lullabies, smiled from above.
Draconian beatings from your dad
she cheered you up when times were sad.

They say that mothers always stand
right next to us, to hold our hand.
And from the brink they bring us back
and re-assurance they don't lack.

So many years we had this bond
and when I left, and crossed the pond
I thought of her as my dear friend
from womb to grave, it would not end.

The Devilgrabbed her aging heart
she forged a cup, a work of art
together with the thieving fink
the hemlock was for me to drink.


She took his hand and hid her shame
ignored the hoof and Satan's game.
On Sunday she would do confession
and sing his praise, in choir session.


Oh, mother can you hate me so
no truth inside your soul may grow.
It seems that in a sudden flash
you threw your son out with the trash.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/verlassen-english-version/