Heart’s memory of sun grows fainter.
Sallow is the grass,
A few flakes toss in the wind
Scarcely, scarcely.
The narrow canals no longer flow,
They are frozen over.
Nothing will ever happen here.
Oh, never!
In the bleak sky the willow spreads
Its bare-boned fan.
Maybe I’m better off as I am,
Not as your wife.
Heart’s memory of sun grows fainter.
What’s this? Darkness?
Perhaps! This very night will bring
The winter.