Bamboo

An upright thing of green sprouts out of the ground,
A bladed thing of green springs out of the ground,
Piercing the iced-over winter,
And when its green leaves shine on the morning's empty road,
Tears fall,
I let tears fall,
Even now, from over the shoulders burdened by remorse.
The hazy roots of bamboo spreads out,
And the bladed thing of green spouts out of the ground.