The rain this afternoon can not remove your trail.
A cup of cold coffee and a stalk of rok0k and a splash of ashes,
hung spoiled on the porch of my house.
The fern trunks are in vain to suck up the remnants of the rickety smoke you are roaring about.
The drizzle this afternoon was so lively.
Welcoming your return or waiting for your departure, I do not know.
Both of them I think are bitterly flowing in my kalma niche.
Crying or laughing, for me it is now the same.
Your presence or your departure is the same.
Because everything only presents a pseudo-elegi between the rainy rinai, where the sacred promises are no longer necessary to you ...
I miss the rain,
Being faithful to the white cloud, though darkened and vanished after its presence ...
I miss the rain,
The loyal to the weeds,
Despite being wilted after rain ...
I miss the rain,
Although there is not always a rainbow after rain,
But I'm sure, the rain will always be present damp earth that began this arid ...