A Sprig of Plum Blossoms

The red lotus has faded, and the jade mat feels cool in autumn. I loosen my silk robe and go alone to the orchid boat. Who has sent a letter through the clouds? As the wild geese return in formation, the moon fills the western tower. Flowers drift away of their own accord, and water flows on. A longing in one heart, a sorrow shared by two. There is no way to banish this feeling: it slips from my brow, only to settle in my heart.