The shadows of gray skies cannot make my spirit dark,
for in the beauty of the clouds I sense the heaven’s art.
Soft winds do not blow to render leaves from trees,
but to send sweet kisses across the stormy seas.
The coolness in the air does not exist so love will freeze,
but to chill the heat that thoughts of disappointment leave.
Speak softly to me, once again, like the needles of a larch,
in your voice, the lilac love that gently slips into my heart.