In order to decorate her garden
In order to burn her moist jewels
The night came, above the soft grass
Above the graveyard, inside the tombstones the night came
Above the graveyard, inside the tombstones she stands
Memories vividly burn
Memories moist from sweet nectar
From that border the blue bird again
From that border again flying back to her garden.
I shall scoop the night dew from the thicket of asparagus
Like a cutworm on a tomato flower
I shall seek her fragrance there
O, but her spirits have been gradually wilting
As expected from a distant blue sky
As expected from going after that little bird's shadow
Right now on a leaf of grass a cabbage butterfly
Idly folding wings and falling asleep
As expected, she is like the heart of that small insect
As expected, she is here quietly sleeping.
Ugly Duckling Presse
M O R E !!!