A Passing Glimpse

I remember that year, when we met by the river, you were like a graceful lotus. Your arched brows and loose hair, turning away from others to smooth a willow leaf,

before a word was spoken, your face had already blushed. Where can a thousand strands of tenderness find a home? Desolate, like a broken stem drifting in the wind. The dreams of our past life fade on the breeze. The spring waters are still green,

but where has that startled swan flown?