I still never see the raindrops fall from the cold eyes.
I have never seen the ocean flow in the winter heart
Always the hard mind struggles with flurry wind
As I assume and hope for heart as kind,
And Something good will happen in the heart of them in the end.
Always I try to open my eyes to look behind the lids of white.
The blankness there, reminds the whole dissemble, hiding the truth of emotion,
Where always try to find the tenderness in the heart of cone.
My heart is in moan.