when a bird flies away
from your hand
without taking the little
grain of corn
let it be
for in time it has something
to tell to its nest
and sing on the night
when all the world is asleep
about love so sweet
so pure and yet so sad
because like those that died
love most of the time
is unrequited
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem