Dearest–
You’re a newly formed spring that’s hidden
In the embrace of that untouched forest.
The pebbles on your bed can be clearly seen,
And your burbly whispers cause wild boars to rest.
Daily, the rays of the sun descend from heaven
To explode into sparks on your glass surface,
And the flowers that on your banks have sought haven
Sway everyday in exaltation of your grace.
Oh, I’m sure you’re cool to the skin;
I’m certain you’re sweet to the tongue.
Truly, merry are those whose thirst is quenched by you.
Truly, truly——
But why should I, a wanderer riddled by years,
Kneel on your soft banks and plunge
Into your waters my flaky hands?
Why should my weary feet wade into you,
And so muddy you?
Why should my cracking lips
Have a taste of your sweet concoction?
Alas! I shall
Wrench my eyes from your crystal waters.
I shall
Shield my ears from your lulling sighs.
I shall
Tread not every path that leads to you.
You shall remain a hidden spring,
Muddied and stirred by no one—
A newly formed spring
That flows forevermore.
