Summer

The bird still sings

Outside your room.

In the tree which I never saw bloom,

And have not dared to see again,

The bird still cries out,

Protesting darkness like an eager soul

Or a child too alive for dreaming.

Awake I swear I hear him,

Even though he is too far away,

And I smile

Because he is alive.

And I sit and listen to him,

Until dawn breaks through the rooftops.

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