The farmer's daughter is a child of the soil,
daughter of the milk-pail, cooled in the stream
rushing down from an Appenzeller meadow.
She disappears over a cliff like a Steinbock.
Below the tree line, down in the valley
she passes for a flatlander.
Her Schweizer grandparents passed on a gift to me,
The flattest of the flat.
Though it isn't hip to say so,
I love the sound of alphorns.
The yodel, the hackbrett and the accordions
speak my language.
My sweet Schweitzer,
Mrs ruleoflaw, will breath mountain air again,
if all goes as we hope.
Greutzi.