I hear the birches rustling
and feel the wind rise, the wind rise
to these open spaces
to the wide pond shores, to the pond shores
The winds are singing to my child
rocking in the cradle
fluttering my birds to sleep
That's what he hoped for when he was snuggling
when he was rocking the little child
for his protection the golden rising of the moon
I hear the morning glory rustling
and I feel the wind rising, the wind rising
How much rain has not been received
many winds without coming. and without coming
I hear the rustling of the birch trees
and I feel the wind rising, the wind rising
A gentle rustle of the birches
quiet grass rustling Grass rustling grass