It moves like a melody,
Gently through my mind;
It blossoms like spring flowers
And wafts away like fragrance.
 
But when it is captured in words,
And placed before my eyes,
It turns pale like a gray mist
And disappears like a breath.
​
And yet, remaining in my rhymes
There hides still a fragrance,
Which mildly from the quiet bud
My moist eyes call forth.