The cap

 

Have you noticed that,

when a flock of crested larks

is flying past

the coffin of a flower or a twig,

the birds pause and,

respecting the sorrow, take off their caps,

until the coffin has passed?

or have you noticed

how an acorn weeps for a murdered bird

and takes off its cap

to dry her tears with it?

But every time the news of a killed oak-tree or a strangled bird reaches me in my room, my pen puts on its cap and weeps.