The crows are flying in the rain,
There must be oil in their feathers;
The murder rings around the tree,
There must be something there to see.
Nothing falls apart,
Nothing falls apart in the gloomy, pale blue
All is in deference -
Everything is defecable from a bird's point of view.
And marking their criss-cross on my window pane,
Left using the metal frame to blot out the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem