The wind is gently teasing the willow,
The leaves are knitting my sorrow, needle by needle.
The cherry apple tree is waiting for the sprinkle.
I was waiting for your envelop.
The pear flower blossom as white as the snow in front of the window.
How pitiful, the spring is fading away, little by little.
And so are my memories about these past years.
I dreamed again, about the place you used to live.
The only thing I can do is leave the lovesickness on the clove tree in your backyard.
Helplessly and desperately.