Translated by Lena Watson (2009)
I keep counting all his letters,
Many, many sheets.
Granny tugs my sleeve, ‘Please leave it!
Let them be!’ she pleads.
‘Anything that’s counted, child,
The Heavens will not bless!’
So I mixed them all together,
Once again, a mess.
In my breast my heart is laughing,
Vigorous and eager –
Could his letters ever change
Becoming mean and meagre?
Years fly past. Now paler, whiter,
By the whitewashed wall,
I weigh the bunch of yellow letters
On my palm so small...
The pile of letters, in a jumble,
Rests upon my hand;
No, it isn’t any lighter
Or heavier, in fact!
Oh, how suddenly my hair
Is turning to be rough...
No, he couldn’t have forgot me,
Granny, this is love!
No, he hasn’t changed towards me –
This just cannot be!
I have simply through my counting
Made the blessing flee...