Under the sun, the soft wind blows, and the willow catkins fall gently, and a pool of green water ripples. The ripples slide over the petals floating on the green water, turbulent, and dots of scarlet enter the eyes of others, only to feel the beauty and impermanence. However, they don't know that touch of color. Color comes out of thin air, falling into a cold pool without any friends, how lonely it is. I have to wait silently, waiting for the darkness of the pool to swallow me. Maybe I can't see anything, forget everything, and can't remember the pain when I separated from the branch...
The flowers are flying in summer, but the time has not come yet, and the body is not full. Helpless, they fall like the sunset, and the pain is unparalleled. I fly around alone, licking and hurting myself, and I don't know whose house the flowers fall, ending this desolation.