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The evening is coming.
Sunset burns on the mountains.
I am dreaming and see before my eyes:
A little girl is coming down a valley, filled with fiery Anemones.
She will gather the flowers,
And on the paths covered with dew
She rushes and calls out to her mother:
Look what I have for you in my basket!
Anemones, Anemones,
Redder than red Anemones
Anemones, Anemones,
Full of dew and grace
Sunsets will burn and then dwindle in the mountains,
But Anemones will always flourish.
Storms often roar and rage,
And again, Anemones will blaze
Anemones, Anemones,
Redder than red Anemones
The years have passed, and Sunset burns on the mountain.
The girl is now a grandmother, my friends.
There is her granddaughter coming down the valley,
And once again the Anemones bloom.
And when the girl calls out to her:
Look, Grandma, what I brought for you -
Her eyes shine of laughter and tears
And she remembers a song from long ago
Anemones, Anemones,
Redder than red Anemones
Anemones, Anemones,
Full of dew and grace
Yes, the generations will forever change,
But every generation has an anemone and a song.
Blessed is the one, who beneath storms and thun
An anemone bloomed for them, even if only once
Anemones, Anemones,
Redder than red Anemones
Anemones, Anemones,
Full of dew and grace