-In Memory of the Air-Force Pilot, the Father Myung-Ryul Park, and his Son In-Chul Park…
The hillside is dusky when the sun set in the west,
The riverbank the road lights flash on the dandy creased
In early morning, whenever open the eyes,
It flows that the unrecoverable old stories, suddenly.
The autumn airs are whirling like the spring tides,
The regrets and sorrows surges upon to me.
The white washcloth is wrapped the black brains.
The white rubber shoes are hung on the rough feet.
On the night of the day when I came back
At same room, my skeleton was running after and lying
Even the Tae-mountain is high,
But the limit is the sky.
At dawn, through the open window embrace,
Whispers of weeping voices reach to my bed.
But down the park, to the grove I tread, where
The chorus of insects' hushes, silence spread.
Far away the head of the castle is seen, in the deep woods,
With high walls and deep moats, even the strongest enemy couldn't conquer.
How did Hideyori foolishly trust the enemy's words?
A bird is crying in the splendid pavilion where no the old owner.
The garden of the restaurant is beautiful, located at the side of the Han-river,
The full of the water flows silently without the babbles.
The breeze blowing through the shade of the trees, the coolness, they deliver,
As the moon rises amidst the conversation, the shadows sway in the ripples.
It gloriously in golden splendor, the Cheonsugak* augustly stands,
By Hideyoshi's greedy ambition, it crumbled the merits to the sands.
In the lake, according to the wind, the pretty, slanted shadow sways,
Beneath the lake's surface, the sighs of souls rise with the waves, on the ways.