You mentioned your garden in the mountains,
And I followed.
The sun was breaking on the rocky path
When I arrived.
The snow all mixed together with the green,
And I could tell myself:
My heart is only racing from the climb, from the spring.
I paced, to calm myself before I knocked.
The man who opened the door was kind;
He is your son.
"Are you looking for my mother?
She is in the garden."