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Poetry in Cimbrian

 Poetry by Adolfo Nicolussi Zatta

An hoachan baitn perge,
bisan etzan un balt
groas di sunn in hümbl
hat ditza khlumma lånt;
is vinze gånz vort bait vo aln
un hat no a zung vor is,
da biar ren di zimbarzung,
da steata moi Lusern.
I grüaste moine huamat,
i grüaste liabes moi Lusern,
haüt moche bidar gian vort,
bartede bidar seng?
Ma i gedenkhte herta
bobral bo de bart gian,
ia ‚s is nindart schümma as-pe ka diar.
Di månnen machan haüsar
un gian vort von lånt,
di baibar no in bisan,
in ekhar un in holz;
di khindar vür pin khüa
balsa net gian ka schual
un balda khint dar summar
alle gian no in sbem
A large plateau,
meadows, pastures and forests,
a great sun in the sky
this small country has;
it is very far from everyone
and still has its own language;
here we speak Cimbrian,
here is my Luserna.
I salute you, my homeland,
I bid farewell, my dear Luserna,
today I have to leave again,
will I ever see you again?
But I’ll always remember you
wherever I go,
‘cause nowhere is as beautiful as here.
Men build houses
and leave the village,
women work on meadows,
fields and wood;
children graze cows
when they do not go to school
and when the summer arrives
everyone goes mushrooming.