Daring not to listen, to that conversation coming from the leaves of spring,\fearing it might stir some hidden sorrow deep within the heart. Yet outside the window,\the drizzle tells on its own the past of that year and that day.
Petals piled up over the days, in spring, release strands of fragrance.\They scatter. They gather. Wrapped in thick mist and rain, leaving one confused. Clear,\however, is the silhouette in the flowing wind, and the barrier beneath the misty waves by the lakeside.
Joy and sorrow at once. Like a spring dream. Leading to heartbreak.\Lonely, wandering along the paths of the soul. The only thing\carefully nurtured with words is that, hard-to-heal wound of love.
Do you know? Right now, that hidden longing in the heart surges like tides, like a current.\Still, resolutely flowing towards this drizzling spring. It can no longer be restrained,\this clumsy pen soaked in tears, flowing freely with the unrestrained surge of poetic feeling.
