I AM a young girl;
I live here alone:
I write long letters
But there is no one
For me to send them to. My heart
Teaches me loving words to use,
But I can repeat them only
In the garden, to the tall bamboos.
Expectantly I stand beside the door. I raise
The hanging mat. I,
The letter folded, gaze out
And see shadows of the passers-by.
In the garden the fire-flies
Quench and kindle their soft glow:
I am one separated,
But from whom I do not know.