I can write in the language of the birds
But no, I wouldn’t
Birds are falling day by day
And when the last bird falls
No one would be able to read what I’d written
If they do
Their understandings be more of guesses.
I will not write in the language of the birds
Lofty and palatial, beautiful and classic
Birds are dying without heirs
To their vast beautiful airs
What is the use?
Baa baa baa is better
Language of the now
No disturbance and worthy pains
Thoughts are gotten as easily as the breathable airs
As goats are many, and many are goats
The cubs, eaglets, and young lions all baas
Hence I my diction
That my thoughts may be gotten as intended
Even when I am in my room resting from the day’s work.