I found a little bluebird,
and it was very absurd.
It had two wrongly crooked wings,
and it was also missing things.
I took it in, fed it food;
even the apple that I just chewed.
I loved it so very dearly;
then I thought, 'It might visit yearly.'
So I released it, let it fly;
then regretted it, thought it would die.
Went outside, tried to catch it;
but it flew on and chirped a bit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem