I've many regrets.
Bent heavy with them.
In every direction, left buried in them.

I'm trembling with tension.
Ah, pity my heart.
Pity its labour in the pitiless dark,

Broken and artless.
Bitter, the sky.
Pity my wings, too withered to fly.

If pity remains, please pity the breeze.
Pity her soul, she keeps visiting me.