I Love This Land

If I were a bird,

I should sing, with a husky throat,

this land that is being ravaged by storms,

this river in which our indignation constantly surges,

this raging gale that is blowing incessantly,

and that infinitely gentle dawn emerging from the woods…

— then I should die,

and my feathers should also rot in the earth.

Why are my eyes always filled with tears?

Because I deeply love this land…