Breeze of Autumn

Heart, so old now and still not wise,

do you hope day by day that the fruit

which shining spring didn't bear for you

will be brought to you yet by autumn?

The rippling wind doesn't leave off the shrub -

always flattering, fondling,

roses enfold its breezes in the morning;

in the evening it scatters the roses.

The rippling wind doesn't leave off the shrub

untill he cleares it completely.

All, my heart, is a wind and a breeze

that we have loved and rhymed.