How dare you wake the golden sparrow's shout
when you laid up in the turnabout
Smuckering a solid air affair
when he was sitting, calling out to you there.
Did not you hear the mountain move,
when you were ear pressed to the pillow
dreaming of your dimmest light removed
and the sunshine is replaced with moon glow.
The day will dawn and you will shout again
another song of the composer's lute
grinning in your heart with focused eyes
as you answer the call of the shiny flute.