They see you as evil,
Your dark feathers make you so.
They clip them
So you can not rise.
Shunned by others,
You fly alone.
Who would want to be seen
With one who is despised?
You show no fangs,
Yet they fear you most.
Such a peaceful being,
Yet the symbol of death.
Fly as hard as you might,
The wind continues to grow strong.
Your wings grow tired,
Though there is no time to rest.
Your feathers give you strength,
The color,
Much more.
Ride the gale pretty bird
And be brought to soar
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem