At this hour of silent noon:
A single crow complaints
Of the heating up heatwaves,
And like the squirrel on the
From its feet falls dust quickly.

Who realises its sufferings?
Do we know it has lost its mate
Or is it burning in the summer sea?

I'm familiar with its behaviour,
Oh it matches to mine this year!

Discomfort is dragging its wings,
And no waterfall is alive to go to.

Things are sweeter when comfort
Is on the branch and beneath it we lie.