The powdery snow flutters down,
coloring the mountain ridge white
The two inside a run-down house in a desolate village
huddle together in the winter night

“It’d also been snowing the day we’d met,”
you murmured with a smile
And I’d hidden my face flushed from the hearth
within the shadow of your large sleeve

With a breath of joy,
I sang of spring’s arrival along with the chirping birds
“Your voice is beautiful,” you told me,
and that alone, just those words, made me so happy

“If someday, I no longer had this beautiful voice,
would you still, even then, love me?”
“Of course,” you said, smiling gently
as your large hand softly stroked my cheek

One leaf-lit summer afternoon,
you collapsed from illness
Our poor married life
couldn’t afford the medicine to cure it

The next day, along with the following,
I did nothing but intently weave
I wouldn’t let your life
fall like the short-lived autumn leaves

The seasons flow by
The bell crickets mark the end of summer with their cries
“Your fingers are beautiful,” you told me,
gripping my wound-covered hands,
but yours were much too cold…

“If someday, I no longer had these beautiful fingers,
would you still, even then, love me?”
“Of course,” you said, coughing
as your large hands caressed my hurting fingers

Day and night, don’t stop weaving
Hurry, hurry, I need to buy the medicine…
Just a bit more, ony a bit more; before the autumn leaves fall
Until these fingers can’t move… Until these feathers are used up…

“If someday, I were no longer a human,
would you still love me?”
The truth I feared left unable to be told,
I softly pluck the final feather alone…

“Of course,” I say, smiling
I promised I’d embrace you when you lost your wings
And that crane which had beautifully taken flight that day,
I’ve never forgotten, and still remember, even now

And just like always, I love you