I am a leaf stricken by autumn, so do not disturb me, O gentle breeze; I only possess a fondness for weeping and lamentation, and hold no complaint against the rain-bearing clouds.

The poet compares themselves to a brittle, fallen autumn leaf, gently asking the morning breeze to pass by without disturbing their quiet stillness. There is no bitterness toward the rain-bearing clouds for failing to bring them back to life; they have let go of hope and resentment alike. Instead, they have found a poignant peace in their suffering, discovering a bittersweet solace in the simple act of mourning their own state.