At the bend of the season, shake off a broken note.
Time hoards and ferments in my veins, but it can't feed a lonely flower. How does the dark scenery at midnight soothe my helpless trance?
Time can extinguish everything, but it cannot collect the ebb and flow of life.
The heart can contain thousands of hills and valleys, but there is no corner, which can place bitter nothingness.
The monsoon whistled, blowing inch into the dream. Right! And the orange love of summer nights--- ---
