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.