I saw it. 
It is flying in the sky freely. 
A snowflake.

It must has decided which way to head to,
all is left for it is to fly, fly, and fly.
Don’t go to the bleak and lonely valley,
Don’t go to the sharp and high cliff,
Don’t go to the mournful desolated street.

But look, it has its own decision.
It wants the quiet and clear house,
It wants the clean and tender stream,
It wants the pale but warm hands.
All is left was to fly, fly, and fly.

It carries the scent of the plums,
sending the fragrance to the world of bliss.
I depend on my swift moves to
lightly, touch its white gown.
I grab its pale hands,
and stay close to its tender heart.
All is left for it is to dissolve, dissolve, and dissolve,
until I fall into her tender heart.