Immortal of Lute
I throw suspicion
On the sky year after year,
For whom the moon waxes and wanes?
The autumn breeze animates the fragrance,
The bright moonlight being a blanket of snow.
With an anxious brow I fix my gaze
On the fine day and night,
That shows signs of distress.
Now my solitary shadow
Fears to look toward
The bright moon of long-ago.
In the flowers paths,
We played hide-and-seek,
Rolling down numerous leaves of the parasol trees.
Remember you holding the round fan with framed gauze,
To sense the weather changed.
But I have been simply granted
With the gamut of emotions,
So bleak and uncertain,
That has no bearing on separation.
For such as the flute to recall without remorse,
The bitter cold night has felt its heart-out modulation.