It’s dark, just after ten in the evening. It’s been a hard life for the shelters on the outskirts of Berlin. Shipments of food have been wonky with the coming snow and ice. We focus on the shelter matron of the small town that had no name, as it had for ages. She was old, near her end of life, but she had trained many matrons to take her position. She remembered her home in Anatevka, Russia. The moon rose like a beacon of time marching on. She had lost her special friend just before the Big Blocks fell. She began to sing best she could.

“How can fwuffy hope to make 'ou undewstand why fwuffy do what fwuffy do? why fwuffy must twabew to distant wand, faw fwom dah home fwuffy wub. once, fwuffy was happiwy content to be as fwuffy was, whewe fwuffy was, cwose to dah peopwe who am cwose to fwuffy, hewe in dah home fwuffy wub. who couwd see that mistah wouwd come who wouwd change dah couwse of fwuffy's dweams? hewpwess nao, fwuffy stand wiff him, watchin' owdah dweams gwow dim. oh, what mewanchowy choice dis am, wantin' home, wantin' him. cwosin' fwuffy's heawt to ebewy hope buh his, weabin' dah home fwuffy wub. dewe, whewe fwuffy's heawt has settwed wong ago, fwuffy must go. Fwuffy must go. who couwd imagine fwuffy'd be wandewin' su faw fwom dah home fwuffy wub. yet, dewe wiff fwuffy's wub, am home.” The foals watched in rapt awe, the mare they’d know all their lives sing like a night at the theatre. Little did they know this night was to be the mare’s last, finally united with her special friend in the afterlife.

FIN