he comes late at night
when all is quiet
and i am still awake
his songs are sad,
mournful like a dirge
who is he singing for
in a tree by my window
he nightly calls
as if he knew the longings
i behold
he sings as i lay
myself in bed
until sleep beckons
morning comes
and he is gone
i await him tonight
to sing for me again
the lullaby of my life
a sad and mournful dirge
of a funeral march
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem