The base of the mountain
is like my older sister’s
tombstone.

It awakens with tear-like
dew drops in the early morning.

The trembling breath of the
white balloon flower sings
the yearning dream last night.

Flocks of deer are thirsty
at the mountain top that
spreads out in redness.

Your footsteps soaked with sorrow
swiftly touch the tip of my cloak
and my heart.

The purple balloon flower moves sadly,
remembering the lovers’ happy times
that have passed anxiously by.