You lay him down 'tell none there why;
and heat, surges and pure is this the light,
right back from you, through too him.
And in holding it back and you do you naught?
Shadows running back and forth here upon the wall
and cry and cry to the night, only more
comes then more;
Never giving thought why the will,
will not think and reasons is no lesson, to live.
Do you sound out loud, by the edge of the cliff,
and wind;
some do right before
between on the wings tell I stroke the feathers and
you tell the sky,
looking on while you swoop and you preen,
on that limb,
while your face is turned up,
and his toes are turned down,
cloud bless this child, and so why do you cry.
When it comes?
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I would like to translate this poem