Sitting on my rocking chair, made by the wood of the old pine
How can I drink this coffee in the glass of mine?
Once the tree was living in the yard ever green
The Birds and Squirrels on the branches were always seen
Now the yard is flat and wide
While mowing the wild happy neighbors is not a pride
Where can the shying prettiest dove
Shout for his beloved mate the velvet sing of love
Where can the squirrel sit and lick his hand
While all the trees are moved from the land
The noisy pecker has no branch to peck her beak
Where can she make a nest for the little chick?
On the lumbers of the balcony, that is newly made
I cannot enjoy, while the happy oak tree, the life has paid
And the intelligent crow has no branch to make a nest
Nest is a dream he cannot even make a rest
Oh I badly miss my cottage although wrecked and old
For this new house my allegiance is sold
I am not satisfied with the new house although nice
For the little thing I paid a big price
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem