Once there were singing birds with me.
Then it was my spring.
Then there were perching birds with me.
Then it was my summer.
Then there were pecking birds with me.
It was my autumn.
Now there are woodpeckers with me.
It is my winter, the end.
Those who know my greens will not be there
To sing my glory in the funeral.
Those who would be present at funeral,
Haven’t seen my greens to sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.