When you tell the flower
to remain in bloom until you return,
I will weep then for the first time,
and the flower trembling in the spring breeze
will wilt in the sun like a memory in blossom.
The second weeping will take place
with the corpse of the day's end,
waiting for your return when the stricken flower
would see the evening come in.
Then perhaps, in the dark, the flower
would quietly come down from the tree
and be lost strangely somewhere.
I will weep for the last time
when in the blackest darkness
you will not return.