The graceful dancing of the lark

Upon the tranguil berch’s bark.

The melodies of birds enslaved

Within the zoos looking cage.

Abnormal though their songs must seem

They fill us all with hopes and dreams.

Their sacred songs of lust and passion

Embrace us all though our hearing lessens.

The prophisizing words of long

Have been forgotten all along.

Though in the gentle berch’s graves

The little graceful song still plays.