Spring

Things set out from their respective mornings

Carrying their bags, where they stop

Completely by virtue of and the beauty of the wind

In the plain where the wind rises, freedom has no limits

Grief has no time

Last year's plum blossoms fell, not stopping

This year's peach blossoms are also not

A consolation for the pause. Everything, however, is

the end of winter and the beginning of spring

Every spring has to go through

It is only a flower

The search for another flower. A mere

A sigh of relief when they collide -

That beauty, the surrender to beauty

That beauty that meets its youth