On the red rim of the rose,
A thin frost glistens,
Cold in my bedroom,
A bare bulb flickers.
Deeper grows my longing,
Part the curtains with wavering sigh,
To gaze upon the moon,
Single as the frosted rose,
Now cold outside my room.
Above I see the velvet sky,
Below I see the people scenes,
Of an ever-flowing tide,
Bitter between them drifts my sorrow,
Shall I dream at my dusty window?
Dare I admire the frosted rose?
For tomorrow the frost is gone.