I hear the wind howl through the gaps
Whispering solemnly to the approaching dusk
I hear your name being sung by fading rhyme
One hundred bird voices, flying toward sunset

Green, and the taste of seasoned vegetables
Purple hues of flowers and her fragrances
Black and pink, of waddling pigeons dressed
Huhuhu-ing from the lonely rooftops

Orange is sunset, a shade of blushing
And to end this little muse of mine
Let Providence remember this song
On a quiet evening in mild climates