When the spring breeze stirs my heart,
Love begins to bloom, soft and ticklish.
There was joy—
And there was pain.

When the wind blows and scatters,
My heart breaks out like an allergy:
Laughing, flaring,
And tears dripping, drip by drip.

Still, I don’t understand.
Ah, I don’t know.
Not at ten,
Nor at thirty, fifty, or even seventy.
I don’t know.
Still so young.
Still so young.

Will I ever pass through that blazing summer
And taste the fruits of autumn?
Or will I simply lie down
On the cold winter ground?

Have flowers ever bloomed in my heart?
How bittersweet.
Oh, you—my life.