Is it mist or clouds or perhaps snow?

The flowers are smelling a little,

many birds are singing.

The mist is in between me and the flowers,

but there is nothing in between me and my friend

     with whom I’ve come here.

Where else can you find such a happiness in this world?

The mist hampers the sight,

but the cry of the nightingale attracts us,

we are surrounded by the flowers’ shadow.