霧

霧

薄霧低垂，遮蓋山高穀幽；

和我們道別陰天淚在流。

良辰通過記憶編織密咒，

給心新的希望值其揮手。

 

Mists

 

Low lie the mists; they hide each hill and dell;

The grey skies weep with us who bid farewell.

But happier days through memory weaves a spell,

And brings new hope to hearts who bid farewell.