When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling