I’m not building a home, or leading the nation
Just sitting here under branches of a white acacia
Where an airy breeze strays through the leaves
While the trilling bird gets its nest in shape
And soft melody fills the whole tree,
Which I pick out and trace in the sand
Then take up my pipes to play and sing along
With bird, breeze and blossoming branch
While clouds an unearthly color wail
Out over that singing, swaying hill.
(Henrikas Radauskas)
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Based on Topics: Nature Poems, Home Poems, Birds Poems, Singing PoemsBased on Keywords: acacia