Can feel only dew | version finale

Photograph of forefather,
dew-beaded forehead.
No sparrow swish is heard,
but whispers of past love affairs.
How many times have you said yes?
What numbers were you chosen by?
Tonight the dices on my wheel
have handed down memories and wishes.
If it weren’t for that day, for that hour,
I wouldn’t receive the echo of the desire,
I wouldn’t be enchanted by this dew.