a petal in a voiceless vale

in wind, fell with no words

she stroll off into the streams

in whorehouse, the man wakes

still, white lilies in light morning mist

dew bend its tender form

the beau and pater titters

naked, the young nun prayed inside

on thin branch of a faded willow

a sickly catkin sprouts

rain drops, she sat by the inn

in her arms the child slept softly