The service given by the appropriate surroundings
The error of expecting more than one turn out.
Save me from the hopeless rerun of fallen birds
From trees that do not know the name of their photographer
And keep watch over the hopeful soil of wandering men
Who always want to be closer to something.

I am healed when the water is running past me
The avatar of the meadow is the running grove
It is dispelling my illusions about time and space
I am more likely to hear what you have to say:
Say something kind and I will offer you an apple.

From the tree
From the grass
From where the barren nature devoid of human sympathies does not pass.

There are places where we can meet up and seem
Similarities for the fortunes of frightening nights
When the moon was more patient than the lustful sun
That told of one more confession that needed time to erase the muddy deed.