Once

On the moist mud path by the woods,
there once used to be a lively brook.

Perched upon the blue-blossomed vine,
there once used to be a singing Robin.

The wind once used to whisper
secret messages to fallen flowers
of the jasmine shrub.

Yet, under rustling ficus leaves, 

the old temple still stands,

where she once used to wait every evening.

Atop those dark hills by dusk,
there is now a glistening star,
once hidden by grey clouds.