When you came into her house, you called out to the people. There you stood with your clogs on the stove. And from the kitchen smelled vegetable soup. Summer and winter the same. Her crooked hands never rested, that was no longer possible. And slowly she scrambled with her stick. Picking eggs from the chicken coop. Summer and winter the same. And when you looked out of the beautiful room in front. The old bridge, the linden tree, the carriage track. And someone passed by, then she said stiffly. Well, that's right. The bed where I slept, a world in the small. The oak door that was made of wood. The feather bed where you almost drowned. Summer and winter the same. Between lunch, soup with schenkels, fat and heavy. You had to eat that until you were full. And then grandma always said, take some more. Summer and winter the same. And when you looked out of the beautiful room in front. The old bridge, the linden tree, the carriage track. And someone passed by, then she said stiffly. Well, that's right. She always whistled the beepers one day in advance. So that there was always something for tomorrow. Even when grandpa was already dead. Summer and winter the same. She got too old to be home alone. And got a room in the old man's house. And wide socks staring at the tube. Summer and winter the same. And when you looked out of that little room in front. The tile path, the pink park, the post office. And someone passed by, then she said stiffly. And someone passed by, then she said stiffly.