A girl was standing under the glittering rain His face was clouded by melancholy, and in his hands were flowers to mourn the deceased.
He did not have an umbrella, and his hair was wet but it was not the rain that bathed her cheeks When I realized that the flowers in his hand They were not for the deceased, but to cry herself, I could not keep from crying The girl he had picked the flowers to cry herself smiled at me, He is looking at me softly with his eyes red and swollen from crying.
The girl began to run at once in the rain, barefoot The bouquet of chrysanthemums He fell from his hands in a brilliant show of colors.
When I grabbed his arm, I found it so fragile.
When he turned back, she offered her my umbrella in exchange for a beautiful flower.