Dream-Flowers
Amidst the dark
Of my past life
There glows a crimson light
Out of my twentieth year.
Lovely was the shooting star
As my love and I
Walked across the plain
Where the crickets sang.
The sting of death lies in this:
We may not take with us
A golden casket
Filled with memories of love.
“Do not lose yourself
At the forked way of life,
O young man!”
So saying,
I closed one path with a stone.
36 
