On Memorial Day in 1240, in the West Frontier
Passing by the frontier on Memorial Day,
As a remote guest, I was welcome cordially.
The Pass cannot illustrate the wild birds’ singing,
The hilly nameless flowers are in vivid blooming.
The grape-brewed wine got me melancholy,
Cold bright agate cup puzzled my eyes tipsy.
I’d like imaging good views of my hometown,
That pear-blooming yard blocked the partridge song.