Beyond the winding balustrade, the sky is as clear as water. Just last night, I leaned against it.
At first, I compared the bright moon to a promised reunion. Whenever the moon is full, I gaze into the distance, waiting for someone to return.
Though my silk robe is worn through, its old fragrance remains. Who could have changed the feelings we once shared?
All spring, sorrow at our separation has left me too listless to tune the strings. Still, before the jeweled zither, two idle tears remain.
Yan Jidao
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