Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.

The voice of my flute intones through the evening.

Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony, I direct the endless melody.

Whoever hears this melody will join me.

Comment: This struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated. I sing the song of the village woodsman, play the tunes of the children. Astride the bull, I observe the clouds above me. Onward I go, no matter who may wish to call me back.