How the merry blackbird sings
On blossomed branch with folded wings
His yellow beak turned to the sky
Winks at the cloud passing by
And smiles at the change of things.
But he's not merrier than me
Laid here below his cherry tree
Laughing under my emerald cloak
Demise was but an ancient joke
Hidden very skilfully.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem