Who was that pretty girl I was looking at from a distance, unnoticed
She speaks to me, I don't know her yet I already created her life story
In another lifetime, she would have been a court bard's muse
I think of her face as comparing to a sun setting into the western sea,
Both being so sublime and so composed for that perfect moment
With grace and passion, she's molded by an aged craftsman
I know I'll be wrong, strangers are unreal in our minds
And I think, the more I know her the more cynical I'll become
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem