Blue is the smoke of wrar, white the bones of men.

O, from the ancient days always there have been travelers. So why should I grieve?

I see shining fish struggling within tight nets, while I hear orioles singing carefree tunes. Even trivial creatures know the difference between freedom and bondage. Sympathy and compassion should be but natural to the human heart.

The weeping voices rise straight up and strike the clouds. A passer-by at the roadside asks a conscript why, The conscript answers only that drafting happens often.

This cream will help one's nature strengthen and grow, The diet gives support in my decline.

My heart is in a world of water and crystal, My clothes are damp in this time of spring rains.

Blue is the smoke of wrar, white the bones of men.