THE cuckoo is a tell-tale,
A mis chief -making bird;
He flies to East, he flies to West
And whispers into every nest
The wicked things he's heard;
He loves to spread his naughty lies,
He laughs about it as he flies ;
'Cuckoo,' he cries, 'cuckoo, cuckoo 5
It's true, it's true.'
And when the fairies catch him
His busy wings they dock,
They shut him up for evermore
(He may not go beyond the door)
Inside a wooden clock;
Inside a wooden clock he cowers
And has to tell the proper hours
'Cuckoo,' he cries, 'cuckoo, cuckoo,
It's true, it's true.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The wicked things he's heard; He loves to spread his naughty lies, He laughs about it as he flies; 'Cuckoo, ' he cries, 'cuckoo, cuckoo 5 good staff like the flow of words Rose