He always praised and loved the mountain folklore,
Sang songs in sparkling summer or in cold winter.
Ahh, but now the legend shall sing songs no more,
Nor will this li’l warbler listen to his banter.

I have known him so well, too sweet for my name,
When he gently held these tiny hands to play.
Him, oh I could not forget nor put to shame,
But the selfish touch of fate took him away.

I have lost him, my daddy, to the giant tree;
His echo swiftly fading in the cloudless noon sky.
If the sacred rocks would just give him back to me,
So I might, again, hear him sing ere to sleep I lie.

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