So it is called love

                     Prize of Love
The quicksand of night is thick and viscous,death lurks behind every bush,
The pulse of time has drowned how can  my heartbeats proceed?

All directions quake with fear as through something is about to be lost.
The every blow of wind have stopped breathing who knows what will happen.

In the heart's courtyard stretch the shadows of fear and darkness,
The darkness is sobbing so that anyone who hears it must shiver with pain.