The rainbow colored wind is being blown,
Aiming for the distant cape.
The melody I could hear before sunrise,
Is a very nostalgic song.
The birds fly toward the sky in the east,
'Cause it's the short cut to the end.
The melodies of the seven countries.
Even when the day comes when everyone will leave from here,
I won't forget.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem