THE LATE ROSE

The late rose,

Glowing with sun tints, making pink lips tipsy,

This afternoon to open finally chose.

Thrown into tizzy,

I stand at the gate – so strange! – to note

That clouds over the streets do float and float.

I catch sight, quickly:

The dew shakes a white dress – which chum?

Oh no!... Springtime has here so long come.

Unintentionally

My hair has grown grey

Together with time that passes fast away.

                         Where will the rose resettle

                                                 Of its each petal!

Translation by THANH-THANH