In the morning light, I look in the mirror at crusty eyelashes and lids,
On top of blood-red eyes.
Where did that person come from?
I am uncertain as to whether or not we have met.
I still remember being too short to see into
The mirror that rests atop this counter.
I still remember looking at this world with the eyes of a little girl.
I can still hear my baby voice,
Telling Mother that fireflies would turn into fairies, and fairies to stars.
Though I still remember, it all seems so very distant… a mere echo.
Those days when I ran with the wind, danced with squirrels, and spoke to ravens and crows.
I was a child whose heartbeat was fierce and free;
As sweet as a summer wind others said of me…
So long ago…
Who is the person I see now?
Where is the child, I used to be?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.