At a rest
A loneliness heart
In the first December snow
Almost each person hide
In their private cave enjoyed
The lonely drunk with snow bright
Drinking solely
Not wine or coffee
Tasting quietly
The tranquility of heaven and the earth
My poems should be within
Then lost in gloomy thoughts
Which would be?
Alcohol or coffeine?
Or a passionate companion?
No, none of them
Nobody at all but
I, myself and my affection
