Without a Single Friend
The reeds are lush and green, the white dew turning to frost. The one I long for is somewhere across the water. I follow the river upstream, but the way is long and difficult. I follow it downstream, and there she seems to stand in the middle of the stream.
The reeds are thick and green, the white dew not yet dried. The one I long for is somewhere along the riverbank. I follow the river upstream, but the way is steep and difficult. I follow it downstream, and there she seems to stand on a little
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