Song of the almond tree

Dejós ma fenèstra
i a un ametlièr :
filha despulhada,
l’amètla trencada,
s’esmòu la flor blanca
al vent de febrièr,
la fuèlha afinada,
de cocut al pè.
Per dire polida
dirai d’avelana,
d’amors capitadas
dirai d’ametlons,
la man jos la fauda
lo jaç dins la bauca
es l’amètla tendra
coma los potons ;
l’amètla qu’espèra
dins son clòt de brèça
per d’autras sasons.
Se morís la vièlha
siás tu l’eiretièr
del flòc de ferratja
d’un sol ametlièr
que son ombra tèunha
cobrís son reiaume
e farà flors blancas
un autre febrièr.
Per dire caucanha
dirai d’avelana,
per dire ma lenha
d’un vièlh ametlièr.
- Leon Còrdas

Song of the almond tree : Underneath my window stands an almond tree: a girl undressed, the cracked almond is moved, the white flower in the February wind, the tree with its slender leaves, gum on its trunk. To speak in gentle terms, I’ll speak of hazels, of shared passions, the green almonds, a hand underneath a skirt, a bed of wild herbs, this is the almond, soft as a kiss. The almond that waits in the hollow of its cradle till other seasons are upon us. When the old woman dies, you’ll inherit the plot of land that has a single almond tree, whose shade covers this kingdom, and white flowers will be here come February. To foretell the future, I’ll speak of hazels, I’ll speak of my branch on an old almond tree.