A rose, no matter its charm, one day withers,
Wherein a garden so colorful beneath winter snow,
But change not my heart, doth it always be with her,
No matter where fate offers her to go.
Yet will our passion one day fade into sublime,
Or survive adversary alike jewels and obsidian,
Doth thou think too, ‘tis love shall blossom in time,
Or wither and die slowly into oblivion?