I am a song
Weaving notes of music
In the woods
I am the stream
That runs like crowds of pearls –
I scattered myself in the blue
I am the bird which floats on wings
The spring is stirring in the garden
The summer is scorching in the heart
I am the wayfarer
Where should I go?
My sentence is a flute
There is only wind in it, but no meaning
But why is its voice so sweet
I am that poor song
That does not know -