He heard the first cukoo at the beginning of April.
Because he'd been feeling on edge, maybe,
from his inclination to order the chaos, maybe,
he wanted to know which notes the cukoo sang.
He sat waiting with his pitch pipe
next afternoon: when
would the cukoo sing?
He finally achieved it;
The pitch pipe told no lies.
Si-sol were the cukoo's notes.
The discovery shook the countryside.
Everyone wanted to prove whether truly those
were the notes that the cukoo sang.
The measurements were not in harmony.
Each had his or her own truth.
One said it was fa-re, another mi-do.
No one managed to agree.
Meanwhile the cukoo went on singing in the forest,
not mi-do, not fa-re, not si-sol, either.
As it had a thousand years before,
the cukoo sang cuccu, cuccu.
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