With ‘slow’ in his hands he stands
And he yawns on roadside
(Where he works)
The bird sings on branch
“Hay wake up; new season”
To the tree and the branch
And the geese and seagulls
Come, groups and alone
Making noise in flight
It is spring; new life
Green man picks the wood to crush
Memories of the past cold winter
Lightless days and lifeless; broken
Small birds as Robins and finches, sparrows
And much more with their choirs
All as bands sing and dance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem