Pleasure in Pain

Pleasure in Pain

Like the solitary autumn cloud
Black-breasted with rain,
Like the lone crysanthemum
In the grassy plain,
Like the crickets' eerie sound
In the quiet of the night,
Like the only woken cuckoo
Lost in pre-dawn flight,
Like the wave that brakes the rhythm
Of an unerring sea,
Like the freshly marbled grave
In an unkempt cemetery,
There is a little fondness
In memories of things no more,
Which when I remember Make me happier than before