| Obsessed with the fear of losing his mind, | 
| he soon couldn’t take care of himself anymore. | 
| He had no friends or relatives to look after him, | 
| only once a week some male nurse dropped in. | 
| He was found in this bed, dehydrated…- | 
| unconscious, as he was, they brought him to a different place. | 
| «We have never heard of him since…» | 
| He lived alone in his house for most of his life, | 
| and I wouldn’t be surprised, | 
| if he had died the same day they put him in a room | 
| with people he’d never seen before. | 
| He had a wild garden behind his house…- | 
| so beautiful and dark. | 
| Woodpeckers and squirrels lived there, | 
| and hedgehogs, mice and martens. | 
| Hazelnut-trees and wild strawberries grew, | 
| and cherries, apples and pears, and currents of red and black…- | 
| all hidden in this private place. | 
| In the safety of the shadows the fragile fern slept, | 
| along the winding paths the wild-flowers wept, | 
| snowdrops nodded their little heads in spring, | 
| forget-me-nots, and all kind of things, | 
| of which I do not know the names… | 
| And, of course, there was ivy everywhere. | 
| It happened the same week they took him away | 
| workers hacked down all the trees in the garden…- | 
| hired by the envious people outside… who had always been terrified | 
| by the beauty that enchanted this place, | 
| and the darkness it was breathing. | 
| Yet, none of them could keep the dead birds from singing… |