I am the last flower of the harvest.
I was rocked in the cradle of summer
and set to watch for the north wind,
red flames burst out
on my white cheek.
I am the last flower of the harvest,
I am the dead spring’s youngest seed,
it is so easy – as the last one – to die:
I have seen the ocean legendary, blue,
I have heard the heartbeat of the dying summer,
my chalice holds just the seeds of death.
I am the last flower of the harvest.
I have beheld the deep starry worlds of the harvest,
I have beheld light from distant hearths,
it is so easy to follow the same path,
I shall close the gates of the door.
I am the last flower of the harvest.