The last leaf

In the bare and blighted forest

nothing now remains on the branches

except a poor forgotten leaf,

nothing but a leaf and a bird.

Nothing now remains in my heart

except one love which is there to sing.

But the howling autumn wind

prevents it from being heard.

The bird flies away, the leaf falls,

the love stops burning, for it is winter.

Oh little bird, come to my tomb

to sing when the tree is green again.