You recite spring's verses, serene and at ease,
While I take up my brush to paint you.
Like zithers in harmony, their notes drift and soar,
A shimmer of moonlight ripples across the water.
Pearls of spray leap, your eyes glimmering and clear,
My spirit races a thousand miles, following your horse through the dust.
Poverty and vulgarity, washed anew through the ages,
Mending a humble home with vines is true,
A proud and unyielding spirit, bright as gold.
Though my love is deep and true,
It cannot match your ragged clothes.
I fall, light as a drifting petal. Who can show me the way out?
Tearful eyes, a thousand words, burning like fire,
Yet we only meet each other's gaze in silence, with every feeling mixed within.
When I look back, all that remains is a sheet of empty words.
I raise my cup to the moon, seeking only shining stars,
Trading a drunken night in my prime for a body full of scars.
I can get drunk on snow, drunk on pines, but not forget the heart that left without a backward glance.
I can paint light and shadow, but never the spirit leaping from the page.
I can paint mountains and rivers, but not the soul that seems ready to emerge.
I can gaze until my eyes run dry, but cannot see through the door of withered stalks and rotting bones.
I wait in the afterglow behind the rainbow,
As the setting sun must finally sink,
And the cruel moonlight draws near.
We are all people who cannot be forgiven.
