The mode of mourning varies as
the course of flight
of a winged random butterfly
from flower to flower randomly:
So
the mode of mourning
the mourning in to December days
continues
albeit varying
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
While reading just I remembered John Keat's Melancholy when the melancholy fit shall fall, sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud thank dear nice to read