Whilst the winter sharpened its destiny
whilst the destiny grabbed its fate
whilst the fate crumbled its fortune
the fortune prevailed as an untouched bud.

Ecstasy brushed against the night
and so did its queen
sullen from being tightened
doomed from being gloomier.

Gloomier than the bud's core
though less to being sore.

Sorrowful overcasted is the night
even with the beams of grin's light
even with the drunken stupor of love
even with shiny upright statues of gold.

No wonder why bloomsday approaches then,
since fellow is the forfeiture of blind sight
since freedom gleams its branches once again
since the light has, once and for all, beaten up night.

Yet once again gloomier was the bud's core
though at the end of the day,
opened up no more sore.