She picked me up, a crying child in a burning village
A foundling, I'd no parents, after the raids came again
But she walked through fire and took me to her breast
And after that moment, we were bonded as if by fate
She protected me, guided me, and called me her own
Created my destiny, gave up her solitude for a legacy
Gave up all that wounded her soul, to give me mine
When she saw enough years and finally left for home
My heart was broken, but without her choosing me
I'd be nothing, with no life or love, just dead and alone
“Woe to the heart that has not loved in youth!” Ivan Turgenev
