I saw once a dead Starling laying on a dryed-up path,
It's one available eye so brittly staring up at,
It wasn't flying rapturously now under the warm sun,
It was beneath me, before me, telling me 'Look, come! ,
all birds must come to ground and my day is done',
My own time here hastening, my race near well run.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem