Out of the hollows
an owl comes near me,
then when I ask where have you been,
she flies off again
with a bat in her talons
dead as dead as night that comes before us both,
away to her roasts,
her nested where her young ones must be,
back again then a hoot,
as the night falls upon us all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem