Once at a November night, when I was fast asleep alone,
The Man-Sheep made a visit to my room.
The snow covered a white blanket in gray loom,
In my strange dream I heard a very low groan.
The air of Hokkaido cuts the thickets quietude,
The soft earth melts like fresh butter under feet.
The Man-Sheep sits and smokes on the bridge of wood.
The solitude descends from mountains and waits for me.
Some time ago wife deserted suddenly,
Than some anonymous girl (I called her Kiki, just to be polite) .
Now Time has pressed, with some melancholy
The emptiness supplants my happy patches of sunlight.
A mountain brook stumbles over boulders great,
It babbles, tinkles and breaks the silence dead.
The life is flowing along the channels of the Fate
From its unknown source to its determined end.