The sun's hanging low in the sky, <br />All the woodland birds quieten now. <br />They gather in flocks and fly <br />From the woods, now more spacious, somehow. <br /> <br />Brother stork, my visitor rare, <br />Both together we weathered our woes. <br />Now, my brother, alone you prepare <br />To travel – how far, God knows! <br /> <br />There gardens in autumn don't fade, <br />Skies shine in the sun's golden fire, <br />And here – only empty fields <br />And the falsehood of empty desire. <br /> <br />Mottled Autumn through stubble and straw <br />Lays its pathways all covered with mud. <br />I dream of your country, dear stork, <br />While the autumn wind chills my blood. <br /> <br />Ah, get ready, get ready, dear thing, <br />To catch up with the setting sun's beams! <br />The sun is for those who have wings, <br />While the lot of the wingless are dreams.<br /><br />Jurgis Baltrušaitis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seeing-off-a-stork/
