, , ,

(Utagawa, JAOD)


Love seemed a torment:

it had all been so fleeting

and now she was gone.

He could not quench his regrets

and felt deep despair.

Why had he left her alone?

Orange blossom scent

mingled with his memories.

Everything seemed so dream-like.

No explanation

of her death seemed to make sense.

O, clandestine love,

your effects are so profound;

your inception so shallow.