Singing the song of still never being
Deep deep in the ceremony of wind
Swirling and swirling more than a typhoon without any wing
Deep and deep under the dust green emerald hot
Roots in and petals swift frozen cuts
What drinks necessarily from the bottle of a lovers’ heart
Dirge dire nasty ecstasy belonging to no creature
Except whom filled with wine
White, white or crimson like a passionate loves  
Talking to you my frozen blossom
Wide soft  
Without hearing you without knowing me
Without any incident happening to shape our way
Bright.