Is the sky still orange bright,
where dance the silver clouds,
while sun slides down, out of sight?
and the bunch of purple Pansies
are they blooming on Willow's foot,
wooing butterflies, vibrant Lilies.
I feel the breeze blowing from,
old rill near the northern field,
Oh how I wish I still could roam.
Though weeps my lifeless eyes
through your gentle words I see,
Again my little heart flies.