Springtime Doesn't Always Resemble Joy
Springtime doesn't always resemble joy. And the sand is yellow not because of the sunlight. Your weather-beaten skin exuded The rays of buckwheat-colored fuzz. Near the sky-blue watering hole Over the fields of prickly orache We swore that we shall be two And will never ever part. Darkness puffed smoke, and the scrawny evening Was curling up in fiery fretwork. I walked with you until the grove Where stood your parents' cabin. And for a long, long time in a hazy daydream I could not turn my face away When you were waving your hat from the porch With a tender smile.