Your tender heart

Your tender heart,

you lovely image,

does not yet glow

there lies within

a dreamy glow,

'twill soon come alive.

The night has

brought on a dew

to all the blossoms in the wood,

and in the morning

to come all is blooming aplenty

and fragrance drifts across the slope.

The tender love

has overnight

poured dew into your heart,

and then in the morning,

it's written, on your face,

the blossom has been brought to bloom.