It's never winter here.
The air is alwayshumid,
and the water always clear and sweet,
like the spirit of a newbornchild.
From a deep stone hollow filled with water,
I see the wooden bucketcome barreling up.
This water is crystalline, and so cool
that it refreshesmy parched throat
with only a tiny sip.
The heat of the sundisappears
as I rinse my face with fresh water.

As I drink, I smelljasmine nearby,
fragrant red and yellow roses,
and the strange orangeflowers.
And I can see trees looming over the yard,
so tall that they hidethe sky,
yielding their passion fruit.

I wonder where this water comesfrom,
and where else it goes,
this water that tastes better thansugar.
The same water that I drink
gives these plants life,
giveseverything life.

I pour the translucent liquid into my hands,
and ittakes the shape of a lens through which I can see
its own crystal drops