How can I do justice to that hive of light,
The blush of parting in the maple, more
What more words can they say?
No bird bears so much cold,
No consonant dies so delicately
Before it falls. close the eyes
It can be another way to store gold.
Peculiarities of each swarm of leaves,
Fueled by a wish, winter will not abate,
It doesn’t matter when I wake up to find what’s left.