In the twilight, ravens go down flock.
From my ripple of green feed themselves
After that, they climb the empty blue.

Grasses are withering inside of me.
The hour burnt,
From nightingale this thirst,

For the cinder of a fleeting blaze,
I am the hearth.
A passenger through little falling stars on earth,

As long as you passed me, I was eternity.
Cobweb in nights of wakefulness,
I happened inside you as silences.