I see my mother with a few light books at her hip, standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the wrought-iron gates still open behind her, its sword-tips black in the May air.
Ég sá mömmu međ nokkrar léttar bækur viđ mjöđmina, ūar sem hún stendur viđ múrsteinasúluna og smíđajárnshliđiđ var enn opiđ fyrir aftan hana, svartir sverđbroddar í maíloftinu.