The past has passed, she now is ice,
We bathe her with memorial light-
In vain, In vain.
No bitterer being as the frost,
Solidifying every loss-
For us, For us.
At times I wonder, when we're to leave,
Shall cold consume eternally?
Or not, Or not.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter much
For death is like a beggars touch-
To us, To us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a frigid personification of death....brrrrrr......