Tune: “Magpie on the Branch”
Thousands of petals fall from the mume trees
Reluctantly and whirl like snow in the breeze.
Gone are last night’s flute songs, a joy so brief;
Awake from wine, I find but boundless grief.
Upstairs I see spring mountains cold far and near;
No more wild geese1
But light and heavy evening smokes appear.
For long I lean on rails without seeing my dear;
I think of her still while I dry up tear on tear.
- The wild geese were supposed to be messengers in ancient China.