If you are not yet sixteen, you will be seventeen. In a picturesque era, there are only dreaming ideals.
It is the dumb hymn of youth.
Thoughts that drift away, such distant despair
A red apple looks so charming under the sun, a worthless desire
He couldn't give her what she wanted, and she didn't want what he gave her.
He can't take what she gives, and she no longer has what he wants.
Wait until the spring is bright
At that time, the cold and biting snowflakes on the Maiden's Tomb slid away
The flawless daisy flower is still blooming quietly
The man turned into mud on the tomb, thick and central, seeming to tell the legend of the distant clothes