There\'s a big zelkova tree on the hill,
Long ago, in my child days at home town.
Under it my grandmother waited me on the hill
Whenever I visited her house in home town.
The old men played the chess, in summer,
On the low wooden bench, under the tree.
The children made the snow men, in winter
And a shaman\'d performed the rite at the tree.
One day the tree was fallen for construction,
And we heard the story of the workers death.
But new houses’re stood without the ruction,
On the hill, soon the villagers‘re on the lethe.
The village lost the old traces, now,
Tightly the houses’re on the vale and hill
But sometimes, the legends of the tree, sough
In me and villagers’ mind from the hill.
Wherever they live, whenever they live,
The whole villager\'ve a zelkova tree in mind.
The legend of the tree won\'t disappear and live,
It is handed down from mind to mind.
Unconsciously my mother had waited the granddaughter
On the hill, where a tree had been in old days,
And on the hill, sometimes I\'ll wait my granddaughter,
And my daughter\'ll wait her grandson in some days.