Go softly in the pine forest below. Hear the melodious warbling of the dove. As the soft creatures skitter to and fro. Nestling in the high branches far above. Listen to them twitter as they chatter. Their singing comes down from a lofty tree. They tweet the music of the wayfarer. I listen to their songs; they bewitch me. All of a sudden their singing ceases. As the sun goes down slowly in the sky. Music that perfumed the air decreases. At the close of the day I still hear birds cry. How I love to listen to their singing, Cascade down on me, their voices trilling.
