(after Elisabeth Eybers)
Where from branch to branch it jumps jolly,
frolic for its mate and do gambol,
that sound barrage sounds bright
when again it starts singing a love song,
where the sound does pierce almost through everything around me,
I almost by the sheer beauty cannot think,
when that song of praise do sink deep into my heart
from that paltry small flying thing,
through the thin lace-curtain
three notes comes out of the garden,
so holy and pure as if it is praising God,
where it goes silent and the bird appears again,
high up in the crown of the oak tree
the song shows it again.
[Reference:"Piet-my-vrou" (Cuckoo)by Elisabeth Eybers.]
© Gert Strydom
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