At the sight of water, my heart flows,
at the sight of stars, my heart is clear.
How then shall my heart grow old?

How pitiful and far away,
the days when I ceaselessly roamed,
uttering sighs on a bright clear day.

Embraced in a regretful tear,
as a raindrop falls where scattered leaves are piled,
feelings limply simply flow.

If I sit up all alone that night
and even caress lightly a haggard cheek,
withering, unblooming flowers hasten down to earth.