Of all the things I could try
would be to fly, before I die
But not to fly with silver wings
but using my very own things
like flying when asleep in bed
using no feathers nor wide webs.
Body rising up in the air
no falling, and without a care
such flying and feeling so free
just the way I'd like it to be
oh, ...to have been a flighty bird
dropping only pieces of turd
not having to make decisions
to dropp bombs of close precision
only the sound of human verse
shouting back a vehement curse
the only harm that poo could do
without spreading eternal doom
I never suffered being alone
through fields and valleys that I roamed
always the lovely song of birds
far beyond and close could be heard
You've been a tremendous delight
inspired my words to take flight
your wings and your colors so great
may your songs sooth our common fate
and to all those beautiful birds
I dedicate these last few words
I never cease to be amazed
how feathered wings move with such grace
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem