Rarely do I feel the essence of life coursing through my veins.
I wonder, were I born a king, would it have been the same?
I don’t know whether my soul is predestined to be so apathetic
Or is it just the time, the circumstance, and fortunes mockery?
These thoughts visit me during winters cold and unlively,
They torment me whenever a dream of mine escapes my grasp.
But after every winter comes about a wild capricious spring,
Whose tears and newborn blossoms wash away my bitter misery.