Poetry by Koray Birenheide

Troutje

Troutje, troutje, where do you go?

The brook is laden with copper and gold

But you know what they say...

That it all flows away...

Troutje, troutje, out of the brook.

Out of the brook, and onto the brug,

Into the pocket of wanderer Mark

Troutje, troutje, traveling far,

Into the lands of Maltekalvar

Find a channel and into the cool

Water you fly as people walk by

But there is no copper but shiny round coins

No gold but the sunray where the water it joins

Oh troutje the treasures, no treasure for you

The stones down below are cut, straight and clean

They are flat and have edges, more than you've ever seen

But they tell you no stories, for the hand took them all

They know not spring and winter and summer and fall

Troutje, troutje, fa~r from home,

From the bubbling brook and the glittering foam.

Troutje, troutje, where will you go?

On the square by the well, where the coins shimmer bright

Sits a man with an organ that he cranks day and night

And troutje will listen and troutje will come

For you hear in his organ the forest-gesang

Troutje, troutje, speaks to the man:

"Do you know my brook? Take me there if you can!"

"Troutje, troutje, what will you give?"

So troutje think now of the things that you hold,

"Oh, my brook it is laden with copper and gold!"

So he opens his box, to the well holds it up

And in jumps our troutje, and he gathers his cup

Troutje, troutje, traveling home.

And they come to the forest to the babbling brook,

Oh troutje let go off the adventuring hook

And the leaves they float brightly like copper and gold