A hot wind carriesThe ambition of my love,This fever, yet unbroken. This dust on the wind,Clouds the judgment of young fools,And makes us all sick with love.
It feels cruel to beDistant from your soft dark smile,A grazing glance keeps me strong. It seems cruel to me:Smiles behind the patina,Of a well-worn wedding band. It is cruel to see,The cracks in our smiling masks.Comedy or Tragedy?
The youth brightly smiled,Their well-worn yellow sunhatSpoke of many adventures. For you, I'll endureThe weight of all winter's snow,And the wilting summer's heat.
Outside my window,The thrush tweets in the warm air,A song I wish you could hear. I stopped to listen,The city noises ring loud,But I hear you, still, singing.
Please, grant me some rest, I cannot think anymore, I want sleep, maybe to dream. My poor, dear poet, the wicked earn no reprieve, now get back to work, my love.
Do blossoms recall,Dancing along the river,Even when Spring fades away? Spring blooms are fickle,Winds carry them far away,But they remember, always.