Far across the land I lay,
I see a black bird, flying in the sky.
Distant to the moon, 'cause its neither night or day,
The bird keeps flying, as the horses feed on the hay.
He cuts the wind by his wings,
Searching for his lover to mate.
Never have he thought, in this journey of the kings:
That- he will be so tired, so wounded, in this state.
He comes and sits on a tree branch,
Where he meets another old wise bird.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem