Omen

One says that when the sun becomes a moon the moon turns into the stars, and when the stars descend on the earth they become dewdrops, and by the time when a pair of birds come and sit on a treetop where the dews sojourn, the flowers will bloom in the expanse of hither field and the top of yonder hill. Although, as one says, there is a tree standing by the river of time that grew from the dews the fallen stars laid; there is a pair of birds soaring above the summit of mountain that countless suns piled up high in order to reach the top of sky; there is a plain that many moons gathered and became an expanse where ends do not meet; no where can the flower bloom be found in the vast space. Nonetheless, for the river must ceaselessly move along, though a passing time may leave affection in the cove where behind the water stands still for a while, it was washed away by the surfs and vanished under footsteps came with the wind in the heart of a never affiliated beloved. For a sorrowful time has been destined not to bear a bloom, the sun of the day, the moon of the night, and the stars of the dark, fade away as a flower that never has been borne, in the heart of a never existed beloved.