How long have I been traveling,
For finding a flowering tree.
Searching for a true heartbeat,
Seeking to reach a past tense,
But I have never been close to any.
Where would the flowering tree be.

The wind blows down from the sheer cliff,
like a knife tearing my skin open.
The ground smiles cooing with the stream,
like mocking at my obsession.
They never understand me.
But I be myself impervious and proud.
Riding my white horse I passed the laughings,
Head up I ignore the gossips.
Trying to find what I may never see.

Those flowers used to be
Above the sky, on the water, in the tree,
curved in my body,
sculpted to my soul.
They bloom only for me.
I remember we had a deal,
When I come, you shall be welcoming me.
Where you show me the natural true beauty.

I searched every corner in the world,
I looked every cape of the sea.
My horse cannot walk anymore,
my head dropped with overwhelmed.
I cannot keep the pace of striding alongside my spirit.
Now my world is cold everywhere, snowy and icy.
I have empty hands, frozen heart, and cold body.

I lie in my cold small cabin,
Staring at the ceiling, sighing and missing.
Come to me you shall,
love of the flowering tree.

While some small sounds
Coming from a place near me
quake my ears greatly.
That moment,
felt so familiar so close so lovely,
like I was where I used to be.

The sounds of flowers blooming
Makes every noise in this world
Go to the end of calm and peace.
My flowers,
At this night,
Are blooming only for me.

Like a girls dancing on her tiptoes on my finger tip,
Like an angel smiling and fluttering her white wings quietly.
The dance of her stirs the strings of missing in my heart,
The wings of my angel streaks the sorrow of last night rains.
I see you there, the flowering chestnut tree,
Standing and smiling at me.

Far away I see the flowering tree,
Standing and appealing to me.
The tree looks like an umbrella                                                            with stretched out crowns and leaves.

I desperately want to sit against the trunk,
Hide myself under the huge shadow in peace;
I want to watch the petals dancing with the leaves,
And listen to flowers singing to the tree.

He, the trunk, stands there alone and quietly.
Like an old tomb,
dark and decadent, and stubby,
With no birds resting in his crown
With no light willing to stay long.

He is old, he is short, and he is ugly.
He supports the whole life the tree however.
He the trunk stands there in silence and peace.
Like a gravestone,
strong, sacred, and solemn.

But I see what is on his widespread crown and leaves.
Those red blossoms, tender and lovely.
How many men admire her pure petals,
How many men love her gladden fragrance.

Five petals make a blossom of her,
Strangely tidy but unique.
Her pistils
stretched out of her body
Like children with individuality escaping from the majority.
The scent of her attract countless butterflies and bees.
Her color
dark pink, almost red,
It looks like sun glowing from a peek.

Please let her maintain the grace,
For men to distinguish her from
Wild bristle grasses and yellow daisies.
Storms try to cripple her, snows try to destroy her,
But the tree protects her from dangers,
With his short dark trunk
With his strong persistent body.

He loves her,
He never sings her the single boring melody,
Not like the spoony flying magpies.
She loves him,
She never use his tall crown to show off herself,
Not like those climbing purple morning glories.

He is not like the stream,
Sending her gladdening comforts,
cooling her down in the scorch of summer.
She is not like the steep cliff,
Increasing his height,
Setting off his pride.

She is only to be a blossom on him,
As a flower she keeps him accompanied and pleasure.
Roots hold together under ground,
Leaves touch tightly in the clouds.
When wind blows, they salute and kiss.
When storm comes, they embrace and linger.

He have his crowns and branches
Strong like resistant iron.
Like knives, like swords,
Like a sharp halberds, like arms of a general.
She has her red buds and blossoms
Charming like girls lips.
Like blood, like fire,
Like heavy sighs, like torches of a hero.

They partake cold, storms, and snows;
They share rains, mist, and rainbows.
Like they are to be separated till the end,
Like they are living together to infinity.
This is what love is,
The faith and purity.

Love,
Not only his strong body,
Not only her luxuriant beauty,
But also the place they persist,
The ground on which they arise.
I sit under the shadow of the tree,
Looking for a past tense,
Seeking to a heat beat,
Dreaming of a love like so for me.