How nice it must be to be a bird,
to fly up in the air.
To glide so high
over mountain and sky
without a worry or care.
To be out of sight, while in flight
over pasture so bare.
To be at peace
To be at liberty
Today, tomorrow, and the next
is sure to be a joy.
Oh to fly over clouds so high...
In my envy,
how nice it must be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem