In the dead of night, the crow’s whimper echoes.
Plaintive own soul.
The palace of sorrow, who cares?
The pipa has lost a string.
The thread of sentiment snapped, too.
A mournful farewell song.
The traveler’s figure faded away.
The heart’s boat wandered to a new shore.
Withered flowers will bloom in the street of winter.
Thank you for reading.
Yoshiko Amemiya
January 6, 2026