English Rendering
Aged moonlight, how many times
have you shone on me, beside the plum blossoms?
Listening to the sound of flute.
Wake up, love—despite the air being cold
like washed jade, we climbed
to pluck the newest buds. Now,
as I’ve aged, my oblivious brushstrokes too weak
to recite the Spring wind, the sparse,
rose-colored dapples beyond the bamboo forest
sending a sharp fragrance.
….
The water provinces, desolate.
I want to send you this sprig of plum blossoms
tonight. Tonight, snow piles
for ten thousand miles. The emerald wine glass
weeps against the damp petals.
Remember where we held hands, the moment
when a thousand trees suddenly
bent crimson beside a lake.
Then piece by piece, taken by the wind.
These assembled past … when, again, will I see?
