A flock of little sparrows
Scraping at rubber and sheet metal
The oil-free chain squeaks
A shrewd, irreverent racket
The stream runs beside it
Overflowing with molten silver
Its course flows, caressing the leaves
Trees silently accompany its banks
Exchanging shade for healing greens
Don\'t tell me anything else
I\'d never want to arrive
I don\'t know what I\'m going to say.