For the first time, the little bird spreads his wings,
For the first time, he soars and nicely he sings,
How often does he try?
How often does he want to touch the sky?
How often does he want to rise up so high?
But now and for the first time he's flying,
He doesn't want to leave this feeling,
The sky is his shelter, his independence and his every thing...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.