A mighty August morning,

The larks singing,

To the heavens in praise,

They swoop down on mankind, with love.

A day of happiness,

An hour of sunshine,

It brings pride, it heralds joy,

I hack the wood, with all my might.

A woodcutter,

In the labyrinths of prejudice,

I lift my hands in worship,

I praise my god, for my daily bread.

Chop, chop, chop, and chop,

My offspring look on with tender love,

I bring them gruel, I bring them warmth,

I am still human, though strife etches on.