Like a flower, but not a flower No one cares when it falls And lies discarded at the roadside But though Unmoved, I think about The tangle of wounded tendrils Lovely eyes full of sleep About to open,yet Still in dreams, following the wind ten thousand miles In search of love Startled, time and again, by the oriole's cry Do not pity the flower that flies off Grieve for the western garden Its fallen red already beyond mending -- Now, after morning rain What's left? A pond full of broken duckweed If the three parts of spring Two turn to dust One to flowing water Look -- These are not catkins But drop after drop of parted lover's tears