THE LATE ROSE
with sun tints, making pink lips tipsy,
afternoon to open finally chose.
stand at the gate – so strange! – to note
clouds over the streets do float and float.
catch sight, quickly:
dew shakes a white dress – which chum?
no!... Springtime has here so long come.
hair has grown grey
with time that passes fast away.
Where will the rose resettle
Of its each petal!
Translation by THANH-THANH