Rustle
Rustle
Snowflakes are flying
over the sleeping ground.

On the new straw roof,
snowflakes are piling softly,
and they are as warm as
a cotton blanket.

My poor heart
is falling asleep gently
at the fireplace of a
mud-walled hut.
A girl yearning for
a dream is singing a
love song.

On the outside of a window
large flakes of snow ­ full-petaled,
juicy, ripe

Rustle
Rustle
are fulfilling the empty cup
of my soul.