I Climb The Western Tower In Silence

Wordless, alone, to the West Tower I climb the stair;

The Moon, like a curved sword, hangs there.

Held captive in the deep courtyard and its lonesome phoenix tree,

Is the cool, pure Autumn breeze.

Cut it, it doesn’t sever;

Sort it, as entangled as ever —

It is a great sorrow to part,

Creating an entirely different feeling in my heart