In the autumn

On the top of the garden wall

there quivers a single last vine,

just as in my mind there quivers

painfully a single thought.

I can hardly catch it,

but it will not leave me alone,

alas, not even for one second.

And so I contemplate it, and endure

all the nights and days,

and with me always is the hollow lament,

that you are lost to me.