Dear editors,
allow me to make some complaints
and a small suggestion. That crane
on the river bank has been standing there alone
for nine consecutive nights,
that the frogs and the fish feel reluctant to mate,
whereas the moon is shining so beautifully.

While nine handwaves ago,
on the edge of a meadow, right at the bend of the road
toward the forest, a flower wept alone.
Her orange petals were lain fallow
beneath the shrub, abandoned.
Whereas every day she has always dressed her petals up
with morning dew.

I suggest the gloomy moonlight
floating above the pond to be paired
with a fawn standing on the edge of the forest,
whereas hunters have already gone
shouldering their ravin: an infatuated buck
collapsed by bullets strikes.

That’s all I have to say, I hope my letter
will benefit other readers
as well as a pair of butterflies
which trapped in my room’s window,
while the weather outside
is absolutely nice, cool, and fresh.