flitting across the sky at nightfall,
the path of dream,
a window hiding quietly,
you will have time to shut,
in the future.
streching out its palm,
gentle and soft,
dim and gloomy,
like the clouds,
in the direction as mystic as dream,
there’s no time to dodge the humbleness,
and the sublime gaze at heart,
hands crossing the transparent darkness,
feeling slightly cool,
can’t touch the intrinsic iciness and vicisstudes,
only the wind with concealed fragrance humming at the edge of the ears.
Spread your wings and fly away,
soar in your secret garden,
the clean snowy white dream is your warm and soft bed.