Unseasonably cool and cloudy;
the rains have been hard on the roses,
washing their petals and beauty away.
The honeysuckle blooms stuck out their heads,
then retreated quickly.
The birds still build,
but sit in the mornings
ruffled against the wind.
Then one day,
the scald of the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem