With armfuls of birds a tree quietens
Dumb rumours blowing it round.
Foster mothers trees are; out skies
In what's hugged for needy sound.
Here come more, spiralling haggard
One's lap of leafed rest onto.
Voicing a hymn's new-found joy.
Their own re-birth singing through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem