She returns, beckoning the sun to brightly shine,

but the sun has not returned to her in a long while.

The birds who made their nests in the nearby garden,

have flown away since the stormy night.

Tears trickle down, chilled by river rain.

She sits waiting for the sun, threading strands of sorrow.

Yet, why is the sunshine still absent?

She quietly dries her hair in the flying rain.

Why is the homeland always in torment.

Endless layers of misty clouds invoking melancholy.

In a garden corner, a bud of apricot remains.

Flower petals or strands of melancholy within her soul.

Sitting here, her soul quivers 

with loneliness in the solitary evening.

She returns, calling for the sun through many seasons,

but the sun still doesn't appear through the curtains.

A river of memories flows endlessly.

Her eyes filled with tears  of self-pity.

Evening rain falls silently.

In her soul, rain falls silently.

What little remains within her?

What little remains within me?

Trace of a wandering soul with sorrow

 to dry near the end of life.