I see you daily, in my court,
You come and gait slowly in circles.
Round the grub, I put for you.
Someday they are crumbs,
Someday millets, or pulses,
Pallets of the leftovers, in bits.

This has been a long story,
On the same position of the sun.
Neither I miss, nor do you.
The floor of my courtyard is cold,
You like it here, I can see.
You don’t soar away with the last grain.

Today, my friends, is the last day.
The winds have changed.
I am going across the hills,
To a distant land, with no court.
Eat as much you can today,
Stay as long as you can today.

I know you will find a new yard,
I know that even after you don’t see these morsels,
You’ll always fly over my house.
I know I’ll look out of that window,
Assuming every pigeon in the sky as you.

Both of us seeking warmth in hindsight.