She sings in the morning, her sorrowful songs,
Soothing melodies to the ears.
Songs of injustice and terrible wrongs,
Songs that can bring you to tears.
She sings in the day, when the sun is high,
Such lonely ballads of heartbreak.
Songs of love that make you cry,
Songs that force your soul to quake.
She sings in the evening, in her mournful tone,
A song of lost true love.
Songs of beauty and a distant home,
Where she'll never return, the white winged dove.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem