Twelve roses are twelve zodiacal constellations
To win the sun’s favor, competing gorgeously
Early spring buds start from Aries
riding on the wings of the green wind
until each rose is made
into a beautiful day
hanging on the pale wall of time
Does anyone know tonight who is waiting for whom?
whose secret is this? And to whom it speaks to?
The warmness of night song breezes us
But we have fallen into sleep
still holding in hand that rose
Autumn in the stream, laying funeral flowers of Daiyu
or possibly Hamlet’s Ophelia
Rose petals float away with her
A dead leaf appears on the shore
The hands we stretched out to roses
have only caught a dead leaf
The dilemma of existence, just like our palm prints
Still remember your delicate fingers
like plumage walking in my palm
lingering in my lifeline
But who can tell me the earth’s blood vessel
the secret of roses and dead leaves?
Twelve roses and a girl dressed in scarlet
are both the gifts of the earth
The dead leaves
clearly record the palm print of the earth