I was sitting by my window

Silently staring on the moon

She is very lovely tonight

Like an iris of my eye

Well she has always been very wonderful to me


Beside me is my table

With a blank sheet and a sleeping pen

Unlike the moon the sheet is pure

My heart has no more to paint on it


Beside the sheet is a tearing vase

With roses of falling season

I was not sure where I put them

Deep into that venomous water


Just on the foot of the vase is a ring

That glints after moon hides

From the dark blanket on the sky


That ring was once worn by the moon

Even the roses were once hers

The sheet is empty because

That is the last page of our story I’ve once wrote…