Where do you suppose
The Woodpecker goes
When he carries those
Little crumbs away?
Across the lake, and
Across the land,
Clutching in his hand
A parcel of hay
For his little ones,
The Woodpecker runs.
For just a few crumbs,
He spends all the day
Flying to and fro,
But ne'er will I know
Just where he will go
Each time he flits away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem