Scented roses at bloom—
On the top of a green hill
Swaying all alone under the daystar,
And white pigeons roamed the city
On reaching the end of the war;
Handshakes and spies are buttered,
Toward the end of the day
Finally, the white flags fluttered;
After a long time—
The years of smoke and gunpowder
I can listen to the birds,
The winding trees — the wafting seas
And can finally smell the settling herds,
But for both of us, the time's over
In heavens, we will make our home—
Though on Earth, It was
Built and destroyed like a honeycomb.