Even rain—
when it falls in winter—
is fickle.

It lifts the snow
from the shoulders of trees,
leaving them naked
the whole day through.

Beyond the window’s frame,
sometimes it whirls like madness,
tugging at the fragile strings of the heart.

When will it end?

Still—
the one I wait for
remains the same,
enduring,
never ceasing.

[Before Series – One]

© TaeHun Yoon, 1970