The man with the funny moustache came to visit me again Tuesday evening. It was the longest day of the year, and the sun was still shining with splendour as it was setting behind Mt. Fuji. He enquired whether he could use some poetic license when writing down my memories. I was hesitant about this at first, so I told him that I would have to think over this for a while. But then I thought, what harm can come from it? Eventually I consented. -Ken Takeda

This book of fiction is the author's first novella, written in Turkish.

Sing, o Muse, of the men, women, and children, Whose faces are shining with faith and Hope, Sing, of the Euphrates, and the Gallipoli shores, Sing of the good tree, the Living Tree, that bears The burden and the fruit together on heavy arms. Sing, to me, of the day when children wake up To a new Dawn, the Dawn that speaks no more Of past hatred and scorn, but of New beginnings, and summer's morning songs.