There’s a dancing butterfly,
In the sparks of morning dew,
With a thousand meadow flowers,
To the songbird’s gentle tune.
There’s a rapid mountain stream,
Rushing through a rocky slope,
It will never stop its journey,
And it never will be stopped.
There are flames of the wildfire,
There is lightning in the sky,
They are free and they are glorious,
But they\'re not my kind of wild.
I’m a mist in mountain valleys,
I’m an echo in the night,
I’m a tree in ancient forests,
And a hare that they could hide.
I am open, endless plains,
I am earth and I am sky,
I\'m dust of horses’ stampede,
I’m a falcon and a mouse.
I’m not storm, but I am a shore,
Silence before the first thunder,
I avoid being perceived,
I am free when I can wander.