Years ago and I returned home
Years ago, I smashed any doors
Years ago I tripped and lost
Still my feet having sores
Asking who comes back and who goes
None but the sound of my footfalls
An owl secretly told me
There is no ocean to swim
Unless you should go north
And I stopped to hear a strange echo
Then I walked step by step
To north where my father died
To see the old oak tree was curved
And the tools of a tillage are still muddy
Here my sound became faint unusual
That my slim pen was being sharpened
And I wrote my verse