At a rest

A loneliness heart

In the first December snow

Almost each person hide

In their private cave enjoyed

The lonely drunk with snow bright

Drinking solely

Not wine or coffee

Tasting quietly

The tranquility of heaven and the earth

My poems should be within

Then lost in gloomy thoughts

Which would be?
Alcohol or coffeine?

Or a passionate companion?

No, none of them

Nobody at all but

I, myself and my affection