Bauhinia quietly blossoms
against this season
She is too soft
The season is too hard
She is too young
This season is too old
Her pink face
In the fight against coldness of winter
Her little body
swaying in the exhaust and noise of city
Sunshine she's stored for half a year
In the rest of the half she insists in
exhibiting the most beauty of herself
No matter dry or rainy days
No matter winter or autumn
She has the right to choose when to blossom
and where to wither
A petal is on the rise
Followed by the fall of a leaf
Hoping is better than sighing
After a windy night
She stands on tiptoe along the road
like a promising bride
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