My Husband Is Forced to Travel Across the Great Song

Ten years of life and death, worlds apart. I do not try to think of you, yet I cannot forget. A lonely grave a thousand miles away: nowhere to speak of this grief. Even if we met again, you would not recognize me, my face worn by dust, my temples white as frost. Last night, in a dream, I returned home. By the small window, you were combing your hair. We looked at one another in silence, with only a thousand lines of tears. I know where year after year my heart will break: beneath the moon, on that low pine-covered hill.