To Branch

Mountain high at the beginning of the moon,

o branches in the night,

You are lonely little warriors,

Waiting for the breeze to come.

In the eyes of outsiders, you are beautiful thorns,

But in your heart, it is the world that binds your hands and feets.

Then pass on the hope of spring,

By this tightly tangled branch,

Run with the dream.

Birds make their home here,

After waiting for the wind and rain to go,

Soar into the sky and look at you.