I pluck the willow of sorrow
A gulf divides us and there is no fairy bridge to carry me across
I weep along
Sadness sits on the grass
I sing the story but I am heavy with sorrow
She hears a flute afar—she shivers
Dreaming a man sings to her of his love
Dreaming a man’s hand is opening her robe
Loyal but in despair
I begin my journey of exile
I played my flute to the summer moon
But the moon soon veiled itself with cloud
I decided to drown myself
Fierce desire pulls me back
Our world cares only for un-enchanted things
Never listens to my song …
We stand hand in hand
We stand without talking
We stand with tears
Everything is fog and water
All the same, my late chrysanthemums are in bloom
Gaze at them—their hot colors will re-warm your heart
I pluck the willow of sorrow A gulf divides us and there is no fairy bridge to carry me across I weep along Sadness sits on the grass I sing the story but I am heavy with sorrow She hears a flute afar—she shivers Dreaming a man sings to her of his love Dreaming a man’s hand is opening her robe Loyal but in despair I begin my journey of exile I played my flute to the summer moon But the moon soon veiled itself with cloud I decided to drown myself Fierce desire pulls me back Our world cares only for un-enchanted things Never listens to my song … We stand hand in hand We stand without talking We stand with tears Everything is fog and water
All the same, my late chrysanthemums are in bloom Gaze at them—their hot colors will re-warm your heart
[paraphrased poetry]