The bird of Time sat on a branch.
I thought to clip her wings, and so
I climbed upon her back — alas,
the bird took flight again, and now
I'm at the far end of my life.
She lighted there of her free will.
How foolish I was then, to think
that I could stop, or slow, her flight,
and yet, that time, when Time sat still —
how sweet it was — how sweet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem