Fly, fly o falcon!
Flap thy feathers of fight
Soar above and slide
Lead the falconer all along
Glide, glide o little grey gull!
The cost sand and mudflat are done
In crabs, in moles
in ragworms and fish
Ascend, ascend o Alseonax!
Then descend and cling to blooms
Hop about and suck-suckle
and so sing out thy cynic songs
Alas, alas o me!
Have I had wings,
airborne always I would have been
to silently scout snipers' hideout.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem