I hear the muffled song of the morning bird...is this paradise?
I open my eyes and wait till blurred vision becomes more acute.
What is this? ...ahhh...A site I am so accustomed to...my ceiling.
I am still here, and it looks as if I'm to face another day.
Well (sigh) ...my beloved one.
Your gracing presence will have to wait for another day...possibly tomorrow?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem