The White Cranes

Sometimes it seems to me, each fallen soldier,

Who never came back home from fields of gore,

In fact, did never perish, as they told you,

But turned into a crane as white as snow.

And ever since those days in their due season

We’ve seen them soaring high across the sky,

With distant voices giving us a reason

To stand in tears and watch them flying by.

A wedge of cranes is fading in the distance.

So far away I can no longer see.

When I run out of days of my existence,

I hope those cranes will find a gap for me

That I may soar above my pain and anguish

And join their ranks like many years ago

Recalling all their names in my new language

And names of those whom I have left below.

Sometimes it seems to me, each fallen soldier,

Who never came back home from fields of gore,

In fact, did never perish, as they told you,

But turned into a crane as white as snow.