If you grow so sick of me  
you want to go,  
I'll let you go — gently — I won't say a word.

I'll pluck an armful of azaleas  
on Yaksan. Yangbyon:  
I'll strew them in your path.  

Tread gently  
on these flowers:  
they deck your parting steps.  

If you grow so sick of me  
you want to go,  
Though I die, I won't shed a tear.