Burning wind
Dust from the dirt
Standing in the dry wooded wall
in mid-summer
Thirsting…

As if I am climbing
the stone steps of the old palace piled
high with autumn leaves

My heart that is opened
to call out to my lover
is the color of ruby

The amethyst sky is collecting
above the poplar lined
against the stream on the hill

Now you are returning from the long trip,
stepping on leaves of ideals

When I exchange a kiss of love
with your lips of pomegranate
the water sound of the river flows
into my ears

It should still be standing
by the hometown brook that we left behind
and opening its burning heart
O, ripening red pomegranate tree