It’s neither spring nor autumn, and every year is the same sky.
No envy, no greed, only quiet companionship
The mountains are no more, the road is no longer long, and still my face is wordless
With the caress the four seasons give, yet always lingering on and on
Through the hazy little path, I see the edge of the door
In fact, I’m at the edge, and my world is changing.
