Plum Blossoms Are an Old Acquaintance

My greatest worry is my own self; I mistake this borrowed form for something real. Who could grow old with the sun and moon? The swallows and orioles no longer bring spring to me. A guest among guests, reborn yet not dead; a person beyond the world, hearing nothing of its affairs. Only the plum blossoms still know me. Why not get drunk together and return to the dust?