O YOU WHO COME TO ME AT DAWN

O you, who come to me at dawn
From where the teteppoppō’s* cooings are heard,
You, who come towards me quietly, so quietly.
Ah, the mountains and slopes of my life
Have been dark and so steep.
Now I have grown old, longing, as do all who have aged,
A million times, for the days of my youth.

You know, I was then leaving home,
Carrying a small basket,
My feet trembling,
With no idea as to where to go,
Counting only on my heart in love—
Youth was itself an agony.

How I wish you had come then,
But you did not come.
Should I have told the wayside willow
How I had waited?
Should I have given my message
To the little whirl of wind?
Your ears were too far for my words to reach.
You simply passed on
Like the whistle of a train
Heard far beyond the evening glow.

All has passed.
You cannot come now to make amends.
Yet, at the close of my life’s days—
O you, who come to me at dawn
From where the teteppoppo’s cooings are heard,
You, who come towards me quietly, so quietly.
You, who come— oh, with what purpose—
With silent steps,
You, who come
Only to let my bitter tears flow...

 

あけがたにくる人よ

あけがたにくる人よ