Oh, Cedar, how many aspirants loved you and the immortal Gilgamesh knew
how to write you a poem. I am from the distant cities, where the sun is without
robe and no eyes, only a story of waiting and something of an ancient fragrant.
I am an old traveler, I learned the trip by accident. I also tell you that I am
a small sailor and inherited the sea song from my grandparents. The hard wave I
will know its desire. I will know it, and I will keep a little silent, so I may
remember something. Yes, I will wait as a cedar tree overflows with returnees.
