I sat myself on the still water of the lake. 
Paddling, creating rippling tides with my feet.
My brothers and sisters’ wavelets didn’t merge into mine.
I dared not look at the rippling tides under my feet.

Departed as I went, I escaped from the tides.
I left behind a trail of greyness amongst the pure clouds.
The pure clouds I saw, through the window of a foreign land.
I longed for the rippling tides under my feet.

Oh! The tides, the birds who flew from the tides, who
Blended into the clouds, feathers with linings of gold.
The gold reflected into my eyes, prickling me strangely.
As I realised how startling it was for the clouds to have a tint of grey.

A tint of grey? I looked down in grief, but where
Is the tint of grey gone? I see in myself
The solemn clouds floating amongst the blue, rejoicing
And beautiful! As if the egg of darkness has broken
Into the clouds which carry the heavens, especially blue.
As if the ugly can turn beautiful under solemn dreams.

I sat myself on the still water of the lake.
Paddling, creating rippling tides under my feet.
My brothers and sisters’ bread and cake embraced my feathers
As I bent my head to the rippling tides under my feet.*