The night is cold.
We are gods, but not old.
The blossoms fall
like a floor of pink frost.
Peach blossoms fall,
as a gust of wind blows
and the stream flows.
Seeing the ten miles of blossoms,
is enough for me to only take one
And adore it, for as long as I can.
On the waterside,
the night is still cold,
and memories grow and flow.
Don't let the grudge, love, and hate,
disturb the peace we have today.