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This is the poem, Wind of the Hill.

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No one can tell me, nobody knows,

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When the wind comes from, when the wind goes.

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It's flying from somewhere, as fast as it can.

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It couldn't keep up, not if I ran.

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But if I stopped holding the strength of my kite,

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I will blow with the wind for a day and a night.

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And then when I found it, wherever it flew,

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I saw now that the wind had been going there too.

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So then I couldn't tell them where the wind goes, but where the wind comes from nobody knows.