You still don’t know,
That each rain has its own color,
You still don’t know, that each corner
Has it’s own shadow.
You are yet to know,
...That each single dream
Is memory yet to bloom,
And each remembrance,
A trembling reverie.
Since you don’t know,
Come, listen, behold –
I love you as much
As all showers that turn into seas,
With all the longing of veiled specters
Of all my dreams
– Now mere mementos –
And all budding memories yet to bloom.
My rain, my memory,
My dream, my love…