THE WINGS OF THE HOURS

THE WINGS OF THE HOURS

Twenty-four birds at the break of the day;
Twenty-four birds fly up and away.
Some of them pearl, some golden-bright,
Twenty-four birds rising up in swift flight.

Some of the moon, some of the sun;
Each of them soaring, one after one.
Some fly in silence, some sing a song-
But when they have flown, where have they gone?