The Moon Was Full When We Parted

I must remember how my brows were never once unknit,

Even after spring has passed, I tire of all the blossoms.

By the plum trees, alone, I finish the dregs in my cup.

Awakening to my sorrow, I find the wind and moon grown old;

My old friend returns, covered in frost and snow.

The wind stirs the past, and all of it turns to ash.

To the tune of "Huan Xi Sha"