No, not two.
Not when the snow is melting,
before she took leave of the blushing clouds,
pierced by the harsh wind.
No, not two.
Not when the flowers are fading,
before they rose above the emerald sprouts,
poisoned by the lawful flairs.
No, not two.
Not when the leaves are falling,
before they golden in the garnet droughts,
fissured by the blind fiend.
No, not two.
Not when your senses are dying,
before they caught sight of the artful hours,
wasted by the heartless fairs.
