The dawn has broken on the body of the night.
Pigeons, herons and one eagle have taken flight,
They soar, flapping their wings towards places afar,
While the blue fills the sky and shuts off its last star.
Dark crows and small sparrows are the ones who speak now,
The waning moon has long since made his exiting bow,
They speak to one another, perhaps, greet the day,
And each upon each wishes to have his own say.
The vibrant sun has not made his entry quite yet;
And all is softly azure, on wing and dulcet;
Memory corresponds to dawns that were the same;
Today chances on remembering yesterday’s name.