When the wind blows, we are walking.
When it stops, we are leaving.
Hearing the wind, we wrote down a song.
When it sings again, will we be strong?
Singing along, we witness the change of seasons.
Step by step, we have finally become mature persons.
A good beginning deserves a better ending.
But the road ahead of us is still winding.
Singing along, we witness the change of seasons.
Step by step, we have finally become mature persons.
We are still walking but we are about to go.
The wind stops when it begins to blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wind is faster than earth's revolution so when it stop we are leaving the wind.