By the Karu road,

under the mallard’s flyway,

my love, my sister,

lived in her small town,

and deep desire

to see her filled my soul.

But people all around with curious eyes

prevented constant visits,

and few private meetings

were granted us.

Yet I always trusted

the way would be clear,

though endless as the wild vine,

at last to meet my dear,

like a hopeful sailor

trusting on his tall ship.

Alas,

while our ways of love we still kept secret,

secret as pool sheltered in warm rocks,

my world a sunless waste became,

and clouds snuffed out the moon that lit my heaven.

For she, my love—as graceful as deep kelp fronds—

has faded from my days like autumn's glory.

Such is the news the running messenger brings.

Like the clang of the bow-string on

a whitewood bow they hit my ear,

but I find no word to answer

or means to offer solace,

any words are aching pain.

Yet I would assuage my sorrow

by even its smallest part—

so towards Karu where she always watched

my coming, I go on my way listening,

listening for her voice, but only hear

the screams of wild fowl flying

across a sullen landscape.

I meet and scan the faces

of folk along the soldier’s road

but no face like hers I see.

So nothing is left—

I can but call her name

and wave my sleeve in vain.

I would gladly follow

the wandering spirit of my love

through precipitous ways

hidden by autumn's red leaves,

but cannot tread those unknown mountain trails

That lie beyond my ken.

In autumn’s fall of scarlet forest leaves

I see the message coming for me

and think of one day of love

that never more shall be.