Six years the moon shone at mid-autumn;
five years it saw us parted.
I sing your farewell song;
sobs from those who sit with me.
The southern capital must be busy,
but you won’t let the occasion pass:
Hundred-league lake of melted silver,
thousand-foot towers in the pendant mirror–
at third watch, when the songs and flutes are stilled
and figures blur in the shade of trees,
you return to your north hall rooms,
cold light glinting on the dew of leaves;
calling for wine, you drink with your wife
and tell the children stories, thinking of me.
You have no way of knowing I’ve been sick,
that I face the pears and chestnuts, cup empty,
and stare east of the old riverbed
where buckwheat blossoms spread their snow.
I wanted to write a verse to your last year’s song
but I was afraid my heart would break.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 
Such sadness here but it reminds me that poetry is a form of therapy in itself…
Yes, it can be. He had a very sad life apart from his official troubles (was jailed on one occasion for criticism of the court). He lost two wives, and was separated from his younger brother for most of his adult life. He actually died on his way to assume another post after being pardoned by the emperor. But his poetry and paintings are considered some of the best from the Sung Dynasty.
poignant
Yes, it breaks my heart every time I read it. He wrote it to his younger brother. They were extremely close but separated most of their adult life.
Reblogged this on Fantage Bambi :3 and commented:
Beautiful💟
Thank you. I appreciate the fact that you shared it.