Seeing the mist again

I did not hear my childhood nickname When smoke rose from kitchen chimney Beside lake in foreign land Willow trees embankment, sun setting

Birds song heard as curling smoke was rising Smoke floating, drifting, as if from depths of my heart Going near and far, then lost without trace.

My steps cannot catch dispersing smoke Only my eyes can follow It is like dawn waiting for birds to wake. Secretly I call my nickname But cannot go back to my childhood