My steps lead me to a junction of three roads,
I ruefully recall the object of my thoughts;
Could it be that I shall see him this morning?
Verily, he would seem to appear nebulously.

In the marsh a towering pine tree grows,
I cannot hope for its span of ten thousand generations;
The high-flying birds brush against the sky,
Happily they roam together above the clouds.

But here I am, a lonely man walking along the road;
Tears falling, I bemoan the days gone by.