In the dead of night, nightwatcher's drums resound
I awake and find myself lonely in the vast world
After many an inebriating farewell cup, I come to my senses
The slanting moon on the wax is shaped like a crescent
The ground is overgrown with tufts of moss
On the horizon, cliffs rise up to the sky
I can no longer endure the flight of spring time
Shall my love be requited?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
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