The Guardian World
The bird that flies on the trail of wind...
calls forth the morning mist.
Through the white cloud...
the power of the sun is gone.
Bringing forth a distant time...
is this day of prayer.
In this never-ending dream...
one voice will reach you.
Disappearing into the sky...
how far does this hill climb?
When you reach the top...
share a dialogue with the gods indeed.
Let's just...
This is the Festival of Wind.
Avoid the shadows in your step.
To a gentle world.
Close your eyes.