Cuckoo!... in the garden,!... in the grove,All along the springtime seasonThe world of trees we always rove. Tiny birds, with gray down feathers,And with our fearless flight,All the trees in our forestKnow and love and see us right. Our long songs fill the airAnd the walkers pass and say:'Sing a joy song, little cuckoo,Sing a song of good omen!' Life is all sweetness and light:Call and sing and call and sing. Out of all sorrows in the world We only have one suffering: Because in our entire lifeThere isn't what's the holiest:A cradle for a baby birdHas never ever been our nest!... Never has the hungry chick's beakEver called our name – Never. And we'll never hear them callingThe sweetest word of 'mother'!... Translated by Monica Manolachi

by Elena Farago (1878-1954)