three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings
i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened
they continue flying away
from that hill
a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem