In Zwettl by the Rodl’s flow,
Where winds of life do softly blow,
She entered in this world of ours,
Among the trees and wildwood flowers.

She grew in fields where silence rings,
The whispering breeze its sweet song sings,
And soon to Linz her path did turn,
Where river bends and streets do churn.

By Danube’s side, in city fair,
With glass shards scattered in the air,
A tale of streets that twist and wind,
Where Franckstraße she’d surely find.

Beside her stood a steadfast man,
Who won her heart with love’s bold plan,
Together then, they did embark,
To Mühlviertel’s wide and distant park.

In Bad Leonfelden, there they stayed,
Their love, like roots, deep and laid,
She bore three children, strong and bright,
Her love a beacon, purest light.

And now, her joy is doubled thrice,
For four young souls her heart entice,
Her kindness, like a river wide,
With laughter they do now reside.

And still, with grace, her steps do glide,
Across the dance floor, side by side,
Though belly dance may take its toll,
She moves with elegance, heart and soul.

She skis on slopes both high and steep,
And in the mountains, she will leap,
Through icy winds, she soars with grace,
And swims in lakes, a true embrace.

On Tuesdays, friends do gather near,
For talks, for laughs, a drink, a cheer,
The theater calls, as books unfold,
In circles where the stories are told.

But what she treasures most, we know,
Is art’s sweet gift, its gentle flow,
With brush and hues, her dreams take flight,
Each stroke a burst of pure delight.

Watercolors soft and bright,
In acrylics, too, she finds her light,
Her work a treasure, bold and true,
A masterpiece in every hue.

Now, if you wonder who this is,
A wondrous soul, a life of bliss,
The curtain rises, names the face,
Roswitha, known in every place.