A poetry by Shafiei kadkani translated by Gholam Moradi

I replaced the cup of water of my birds
poured into their small grain bowl millet
beholding them a little far away I stood 
I saw as usual they flied from one bar to the other
with the soft sound of their feathers
"what use of flying in such a closed place
that your wings get tired" I asked
"we fly here worrying that someday forget flying." they replied