The birds fly south
at the autumns chilly end,
but the black dove can never
return to her northern home again.
A gate is posted at the border,
A fence to keep her out of her home.
Each year she must fly farther south.
Each year, a different wind whispers 'alone.'
If the bird could be free
to fly and to sing,
and to return home
with a familiar wind under-wing,
she would return each night
to rest under a single sky.
Her weary eyes could finaly rest,
and she could forget the words 'good bye.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem