You, little troubadour,
who opens the mornings,
tell me: When the cherry tree dies,
will you return at dawn
and sing joyfully at my window?
You, feathered bird,
you do not see me, but I hear you …
Who taught you the notes
and the arpeggios of your song?
For whom is your nocturnal trill?
Is it your prayer
to take leave of the day,
or are you just so lonely?
Come, I want to be your nest,
come, bravely down from your branch,
accompany my loneliness
close to the dying fire
in the winter of this night.
Inès Blanco (Luna de abril), Colombia
Translation: Germain Droogenbroodt
Painting: Antoine Bourdelle, 1861 – 1929