Birds Are Drowsing

Leah Rudnitsky

ca. 1942

Birds are drowsing on the branches.
Sleep, my darling child.
At your cradle, in the field,
A stranger sits and sings.
Once you had another cradle
Woven out of joy.
And your mother, oh your mother
Will never more come by.
I saw your father fleeing
Under the rain of countless stones.
Over fields and over valleys
Flew his orphaned cry.

Translate
Please login or register for free access to Posen Library Already have an account?
Engage with this Source

You may also like