The cock sings at the right time
by day, by night
he knows too well the hours, as we know
the difference between life and death
The cock sings for the present only –
the present, which alone means life,
his inner clock tuned to the planet’s pulse
no wonder he can keep the time
by day, by night

The cock does not claim to find out
whether his inner clock will ever stop
for he will anyway remain
tuned to the pulse of our Earth –
the chicken from under the brood hen
will be the echo of his present song.