Picking autumn plums
Picking autumn plums My wrinkled hands Once again grow fragrant. Your dreamy poems Have permeated my deepest regions. And I sleep in memory of you Of the sweet-mingled scent that is magic. Now, stay here and walk with me awhile As we walk through the streets Of this old town. I will hold your hands until mine smell of that perfume of yours, Of the sweet-mingled scent that is magic. As I grow older and more mature, As time is reaching its end, All I remember is your wonderful love And all my senses are the smell of you And that sweet-mingled scent that is magic.
