Year by year, in the snow,
I have often gathered plum flowers,
intoxicated with their beauty.
foundling them impudently
I got my robe wet with their lucid tears.
This year I have drifted to the corner
of the sea and the edge of the horizon,
My temples has turned grey.
Judging by the gust of the evening wind,
There's hardly a chance that I will be able
enjoy the plum blossoms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem