Patiently waiting for a turn to speak, looking out the window
and watching birds sneak through the sky, flapping their wings
in rhythm to keep their bodies flying in the air.
Gliding, soaring, landing gently upon thin telephone wires to
sit for a moment, then off they fly again to another roost they
can see off in the distance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem