Under the boughs of the persimmon tree
We meet, my shadow and I,
Conversing in whispers and stealing glances
That are half-lost in the darkness of night.
The thin, crescent moon pinned onto the sky
Cares little for shedding its light,
And thankful, we bury and hide ourselves further
In an embrace full of sweet, hot delight.
Shadow and I are one and the same,
Yet strangely we never can meet,
Except for the times when the sun has gone down
And the rest of the world goes to sleep.
There, in the stillness and softness of night,
We murmur frail words of young love,
Pretending that we are the only ones left
In a world that has dropped out of sight.
Dawn is approaching; our love melts away
Like the snow that is thawed by the sun,
And we become rivals who fight once again,
And are joined but can never be one.
And so come, night; relieve us of troubles
That divide one heart into two,
Return us to being furtive, midnight lovers
Who have nothing but loving to do.