A lonely swan from the sea flies,
To alight on puddles it does not deign,
Nesting in the poplar of pearls,
It spies and questions green birds twain:
“Dont you fear the threat of slings,
Perched on top of branches so high,
Nice cloths invite pointing fingers,
High climbers god in good will defy,
Bird hunters will crave me in vain,
for I roam the limitless sky”