If I were a bird,
I should also/with a hoarse throat/sing:
This storm/this land,
This is always surging/our sadness/river,
This constant/blowing/annoying/wind,
And the/very gentle/dawn from the forest. ...
Then/I died,
Even the feathers have rotted underground.
Why/my eyes/often contain tears?
Because I/deeply love this land …