This by Berthold Brecht. I wish you all a glorious day.
The night when she first gave birth
Had been cold. But in later years
She quite forgot
The frost in the dingy beams and the smoking stove
And the pressure of the afterbirth towards morning.
But above all she forgot the humiliation
Of having no privacy
Common among the poor.
That was the main reason
Why in later years it became a holiday for all
To take part in.
The shepherds' coarse chatter fell silent.
Later they turned into the Kings of the story.
The wind, which was very cold,
Turned into the singing of angels.
Indeed, of the hole in the roof that let in the
frost nothing remained
But the star that peeped through it.
All this was due to the vision of her son,
who was easy,
Was fond of singing
Surrounded himself with poor folk
And was in the habit of mixing with kings
And of seeing a star above his head
at night time.