I sought the answer of my sorrow,
and without a doubt, it clearly came:
leaving me to talk to myself,
making me a lonely being.
Mirth of awaiting songs and poems,
the majestic hue on a rose’s cheek…
easily and quietly pass away to show:
by any who know how to look beyond
the spell of pleasures,
realize that every pleasure swings past
a fleeting dream.
The knowledge of this,
is the cause of my sorrow –
leaving me to talk to myself:
making me a lonely being.
