The first time he freed her the waters were high-
What was he thinking?
As if the current waves were grains
And salt for drinking-
So she returned, resembling her cousin the quail
Gasping and grasping for the rail.;
The second time she must have found a treetop:
An olive sprig of civic pride
And peace, because she brought back
(And in his beard let drop)
Nature's lovely token of her comeback;
The third time she must have seen scant need
To return to the hoary old man
Because she disappeared forever-never seen
Again, and must have found some out,
(Or so he reasoned through his doubt) ,
And set about doing what birds do best-
The roundabout creation of a nest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem