We will dance this yellow morning
To imaginary track
And your hands so warm and lovely
Will be lying on my neck.
Jusy rays will drift in stillness
Piercing tiny specks of dust
And these stripy walls and windows
Will enclose us as we last.
At the foot of hazel forest
We will watch the cherry fume
Rising up and then dispersing
In the milky sunny room.
It's already eight past seven,
Time to thank that we're alive,
Holding in our hands two tea-cups
With a shining golden line.