歌词
Catching winter in their carved nostrils
The traitor birds have deserted us
Leaving only the dullest brown sparrows
For spring negotiations
I told you we were fools
To have them in our games
But you replied
They are only wind-up birds
Who strut on scarlet feet
So hopelessly far
From our curled fingers
I had moved to warn you
But you only adjusted your hair and ventured
Their wings are made of glass and gold
And we are fortunate
Not to hear them splintering
Against the sun
Now the hollow nests
Sit like tumors or petrified blossoms
Between the wire branches
And you, an innocent scientist
Question me on these brown sparrows
Whether we should plant
Our yards with breadcrumbs
Or mark them with the black, persistent crows
Whom we hate and stone
But what shall I tell you of migrations
When in this empty sky
The precise ghosts of departed summer birds
Still trace old signs
Or of desperate flights
When the dimmest flutter of a coloured wing
Excites all our favorite streets
To delight in imaginary spring