The cloud with its cold and damp skin
Has embraced the heaven tightly;
The leafless orchard
Is alone day and night
With his pure and sad silence.
His lyre is rain and his song is wind,
His garment is of nudity cloak,
And if another garment it must wear,
Let his Warf and woof be woven by golden ray.
It can grow or not grow, wherever he wants or doesn’t want;
There is neither a gardener nor a passerby.
The depressed orchard
Expects no spring.
If his eye sheds no warm luster
And on his face no leaf of smile grows,
Who says the leafless orchard is not beautiful?
It relates the tale of fruits raising their heads to the heaven, and now lying in the base coffin in earth.
The leafless orchard,
His laughter is tearful blood,
Mounted for ever on his wild yellow stallion,
It roams in autumn, the king of seasons.