A bowl-like moon breaks through the darkness,
The returning birds and squirrels quiet and settle in for the night.
The land of a thousand hills is full of emptiness.
On a high tree my heart is heavy for her, my grief is tight.
The cold wind blow in to intensify my longing
Facing her home way direction I sigh for long.
The tall tree is wet with tears and dew
I’ve tiptoed on this crooked branch for long, so long that my knees are numb.
The sight of the moon moving shadows rears deep feelings anew
My only regret is vainly waiting for her to come.