A Refuge of Nocturnal Birds
High on a cliff there's a twisted pine;
intently it listens into the abyss
with its trunk curved down like a crossbow.
A refuge of nocturnal birds,
in the deepest hours of night it resounds
with the swift fluttering of wings.
Even my heart has a nest
suspended into the darkness, and a voice;
it, too, lies awake listening at night.
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