The music
That was composed
Through your toe by me -
Spring.
The goose pimples
That flourished
When I nested on the back of your neck -
Winter.
The drizzle
That appeared
When I ate your words greedily -
Rainy.
The void
That was formed
When our locked hands died out -
Summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem