The Meaningless Happiness
If she is not with me,
the pleasant rain,
has no meaning,
without her,
the nights,
enlightened with,
full blossomed moon,
appear as deep dark.
My searching eyes,
are roaming,
among the stars,
within discussion,
of her beauty,
I have awakened,
thousands of nights.
Her tears, and
sigh of sadness,
tend me, much
to cry more and more,
I pray her,
to forget me,
and all of things,
related with my,
madness in love.
May my tears,
being the faces,
of the dew,
be wrapped,
with the flowers,
may she not bring,
such gifts,
on my sadness.