There is a strange whisper that today seems awind
A secret tale of youth, told in smiles, told in leaves,
It sings about desire that an archer has twinned,
The words are drops of rain in which warm sunlight weaves,
The notes are those instants where the world is soundless,
Playing along sheets written in gazes hiding
To the beat of footsteps and shadows colliding,
It tales of faithful hearts and devotion endless.
But will it be minor, oh this sweet symphony?
For in time wind calms down and shadows come to pass
In the end even rain will not keep company;
Do beware my young ones for diamond can be glass…