The true beloved is like a field of wild flowers, Yet the white of winter has arrived and devours. Will the sun yet break through the great storm, Will it yet fully shine and reveal all of its warm. The true beloved is like the cherry blossoms of old, It gentle blossoms can't be lost in the grasp of cold. Is spring yet to beckon, with its most gentle song, Yet for how long can the wanderer remain strong. The blizzard blows from the north wind like icy fingers, Like a silent prowling white wolf covered in ice it lingers. There it stands the proud tree of the beloved in the snow, Its blossoms pink of love yet on it sits the ancient crow. The true beloved is like a gentle strong swallow in the wind, In the long winding path of life, we search and hope to find. Yet the red tread of love won't as easily tangle and unwind, In eternity are the white doves in their sacred dance entwined.
