BIRD

Saima Harmaja(1913-1937)

O child, ifthe bird of love

on your hand flies, known, dear, fond,

don't beg it! Let it warble

solely the dazzling moment of your destiny.

Only your eyes close, you who cried have,

in your bosom feel the summer's ardent gold.

Quiver, glimmer - Everything from you has gone.

- But your hand gaze, in which shines presently.

Lintu, from the collection Hunnutettu(1936), page 77.

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