The heavens are the board, the stars the pieces. Though all is clear and bright, who can make a move?
The earth is a pipa, the roads its strings. Though all is plain to see, who can play?
Night falls dim, the bone boat sways. Between black and white, who will cross?
Grief weighs heavy, eyes grow lost. When truth becomes a lie, who can tell them apart?
Fate draws us near, but how can we undo this ill-fated love?
Our hearts remain entwined, though our souls have strayed.
The sun rises, shadows fade. The moon sets, the lights grow sparse.
Smoke drifts gently, rain falls mournfully.
Wisteria leans softly, longing to share a life together, bound by love.
Begonias murmur in autumn, gazing toward parting, with no heart to stay.
Ink stains the dust black, blood paints the sunset red.
How does love begin? How does ill fate arise?
