English Rendering
Blossoms on the branches.
Blossoms fall on men.
A pity, their faces are full of their youth.
Yesterday, I saw every blossom blooming.
Now, I see each blossom wants to fall.
This joy of falling is not as good as leaving here.
Don't linger just for the sex; it ruins all.
Orioles sing, butterflies dance, glory of youth grows old.
As our hot stove boils tea, the fragrance of old eggs.
Make-up on, singing done, we can do as we please no more.
Alone, one fragrant blossom, returns to her chamber once more.
