The black birds fly by,
Across the open sky,
But why?
Why do they fly?
Is it the merry weather?
But alas, from them drops a shiny feather,
It flutters through the new spring air,
And lands where children play without a care.
On the ground,
The lonely feather is found,
By a girl,
Whose hair is without curl.
She puts it in her lovely Easter hat,
While baby brother chases a gnat.
Mother and Father are dressed in their Sunday best.
They all squeeze into their tiny car,
Like birds entering their nest.
As they drive to the church,
Past the blooming birch,
The black birds fly by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem