The Dead Tree and the Pierrot

—A certain weather forecast— for he has no home to return a pierrot painted with snow-white make-up walks under the moonlight up and down restlessly under the sky, the pierrot sleeps all curled up because of the nightly chilling air, now stands with both arms stretched out to the air; the moonlight streams in through the openings between the pierrot’s spread fingers dyes his face to pale blue a leaf that was blown off by the passing wind is being shoved and tumbled all about the lakeside like the pierrot on the stage, now returns to the tree where the leaf was conceived and clings on the tip of a broken branch, and asks tomorrow’s weather condition for his bygone days were the series of miseries on tomorrow, the rain that is heavier than the moonlight comes through pierrot’s spread fingers may fall and hit his face pitilessly on tomorrow, the rain that is colder than the spray of a breaker hits the lakeside breakwater may bring a wild wind to push the poor pierrot’s back and shove around here and there cold-heartedly