myriad of wings in the sky,
home and home, gentle wings, gently fly
myriad of wings, I said I could not count
soaring up the gloomy eve, yes, I can now recount
the sky workers who depart in the morn,
heading toward destination known to no one;
and soaring home in legion toward eve
when I sit to chant the verse of eve;
but is theirs laborious or what can you say?
as strenuous seems men's work night and day
and did you ever thought of their plan?
or whether their labour was to gain
nests or things in men's Oblivion
when you see bats soaring forever on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem