Roedd Franz Kafka wedi bod yn tyfu llysiau mewn cornel o’r ardd, ac roedd e’n falch iawn o’r canlyniadau. Roedd bron popeth wedi troi’n frown, heblaw am banasen enfawr a gwrden rownd ymhlith y pydredd cyffredinol o blanhigion wedi marw. Golygfa prydferth yr oedd e, ar ei ôl.
– Beth yw hwnna, meddai Daf, yn amneidio ar y panasen.
– Panasen yw e, meddai Kafka.
– Panasen dw i, meddai’r panasen.
– O na, dim cymeriad arall, cwynodd Daf. – Alli di neud unrhywbeth ddoniol?
– Plymwr da iawn dw i, atebodd y panasen. – Dw i’n da iawn am glirio peips.
– Beth am hwnna, gofynnodd Daf, yn amneidio ar y gwrden.
– Keith dw i, meddai’r gwrden.
– A beth wyt ti’n dda amdani?
– Dw i’n dew ac yn rownd, a nid allaf symud.
[bg_collapse view=”link” color=”#4a4949″ expand_text=”Saesneg / English” collapse_text=”Hide” ]
Franz Kafka had been growing vegetables in a corner of the garden, and he was very pleased with the results. Almost everything had turned brown, apart from an enormous parsnip and a round gourd amid the general rot of dead plants. It was a beautiful sight, according to him.
– What’s that? asked Dave the cat, pointing at the parsnip.
– It’s a parsnip, said Kafka.
– I’m a parsnip, said the parsnip.
– O no, not another character, complained Dave. – Can you do anything funny?
– I’m a very good plumber, answered the parsnip. – I’m very good at clearing pipes.
– What about that? asked Dave, pointing at the gourd.
– I’m Keith, said the gourd.
– And what are you good at?
– I’m fat and round and cannot move.
[/bg_collapse]