Choices that the past has locked,
A dense cloud, harsh knives of rain,
Where was the beauty that filled the sky?
A dark blanket that covers,
what was and what could never be,
Locking away what doesn't exist.
The key forged with deep blue fire.
Sing again, bluebirds, sing again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem