Oh, how dark thy guts are, Mother,
Oh, how dewy thy breath is!
Winter stripped thou of all colors,
Had thou sleeping with a kiss.
Oh, how dim thy gaze is, Mother,
Oh, how silent thy heart is!
Here I lie, waiting for morrow,
Moonshine resting on my knees.
Thou are trapped in somber slumber.
How I wish thou'd wake up now,
Burn away those silver covers,
Clothe thyself in sage-green gown.
How I wish thy voice of cotton
Had let itself into my bones,
"Oh, come hither, my dear daughter,
Do not wither among stones.
Come beneath the trees' calm crown,
Let thy spirit be serene,
In thy sadness do not wallow,
Meet thy brother, gentle wind."
Fear not, my dear Mother!
Our embrace will warm thy trunks.
Soon thy temple will be crowded,
As we'll call and praise the sun.