NATASHA, THE WHITE DONKEY AND ME
Tonight the snow falls endlessly, because I, a poor man, love the beautiful Natasha. I love Natasha, the snow falls endlessly, and I sit alone, drinking rice wine. Drinking rice wine, I think: the night the snow falls endlessly, I would like to ride, with Natasha, upon a white donkey to a remote, mournful mountain village and live in a cottage. The snow falls endlessly. I love Natasha. Natasha must be coming. She has already come in quietly and tells me: “You throw away such a thing as the world because it’s muddled, but going to a remote mountain doesn’t mean you lose it all.” The snow falls endlessly, the beautiful Natasha will love me, and somewhere the white donkey, too, will cry out, delighted with tonight.