I
try to weave a wreath all
the morning, but the flowers slip and they drop out.
You
sit there watching me in secret through the corner of your prying eyes.
Ask
those eyes, darkly planning mischief, whose fault it was.
I
try to sing a song, but in vain.
A
hidden smile trembles on your lips, ask of it the reason of my failure.
Let
your smiling lips say on oath how my voice lost itself in silence like a
drunken bee in the lotus.
It
is evening, and the time for the flowers to chose their petals.
Give
me how to sit by your side, and bid my lips to do the work that can be
done in silence and in dim light of stars.