You take the warmest summer ever and lay it over a beautiful country,
And pour over it:
Offspring, virgin forests, butterfly wings, narrow country trails,
Mother-of-pearls, high tides, winds of an ocean, golden harvests,
Cricket songs, sunlight, trout rivers and blue of a ken.
Then you hum it with the night and tilt it to the east,
Until it disappears in the horizon.
After that, you take a fistful of fall
And pour it as a smattering all over and when it becomes rubicund,
You lay it on the plain, on the mountain, on the meadows,
You crouch it among vineyards, blend it with children dreams,
And well done fruits, then you charge it into carriages and barns.
In addition you take two clean winter sieves
And sift some snow over the villages,
Over the white rabbit's fur, over the green fir-tree,
Boundary to boundary,
Then you blow from above:
North winds, ice over the lakes, heat in the manor houses,
Nut kernels inside sponge cakes, ice paths and frozen hands.
In the end you spread all over, one Merry Christmas !