With the roaring wind,
you cut across my sight,
your eyes shining bright—
they hold only the far horizon.
Storm rains strike your ruffled wings,
your dark feathers drenched,
yet they cannot make you pause!
Even the branches reaching out
cannot make you rest,
for you fear losing your path
when you rise again.
Like a steadfast traveler,
you march on without looking back.
The dazzling lights below
cannot compare to the distant moon above.
Like a soldier on the front line,
armor clinging tight,
hidden in the night—
the weariness of battle,
the stains of blood,
cannot shake your resolve.
The heartbeat as your drum,
the wind as your strings,
you sing the proudest war song!
At night’s approach,
over mountain peaks,
you shoot like an arrow,
splitting the dimming sky.
The sharp hiss of your flight—
all creation holds its breath.
At dawn, the sun leaps up,
its light shows you the way.
It dries the storm-soaked clothes,
heals the wounds of the night.
You stride forward, stronger still.
Against the headwind you advance,
believing firmly
the journey’s end lies ahead.
