If bitter herbs sigh in the tea
and shake the red maple shirt,
comes time for bitterness, coming frost doubtless
and the heart of summer is still bleeding.
In the circle of cold wet rocks
flexible reflection descends cherished expected.
And his tender hands end with dragon’s claws,
and the heart of summer is still burning.
With clarified in hidden from smile lines
everyone stacks a fire, looks for matches.
Frost glows blue, frostbite enters the forests,
and the heart of summer is still beating.
On the fog across the dark milky sea
come back from somewhere, lie to me forever.
And bring a matte apple from afar
and the heart of summer will not stop.
These are the verses of a song I think of at that time – the transition between autumn and winter.