I sing a song for the unheard:
The dumb, the deaf, the speechless bird.
I sing a song that’s meant to gird.
I sing, I sing, a silent word.
Listen, listen, it’s sung with ease.
Its sound is quiet, like a billion bees.
It freezes hot, one hundred degrees.
Songs are sung, not many like these.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem