The bakula flowers have all withered away.

The lamp of hope has become extinguished.
The fragrances of flower pollen
have drifted away.

Your divine game goes on
in light and shade.
You constantly play with all.
Sometimes You fill us with honey,
sometimes You take away our everything.

Now that the flowers
have withered away,
I shall get fruits.

The wheels of Your cart
go on revolving continuously.
But joy and sorrow alternate.

As I know the cause that lies behind it all,
I am not surprised.

Look, the bakula flowers that withered
have again taken shape in Your garland.