Remembering by Yuan Mei

The years, their months
turn, grave and slow, their
fall and spring, again.

Mountain flowers, mountain leaves and
each time’s new.

Sometimes I sit alone
and smile upon the child I was,

in memory now distant
and a friend.

translated by J.P. Seaton

7 thoughts on “Remembering by Yuan Mei

    • I don’t teach those kinds of classes anymore. But when I did teach creative writing, I had the students produce their own literary magazine and I acted in an advisory capacity. We even had a short-lived literary magazine of poems by immigrants in my old ELI. Now, though, I just post the masters along with my own things.

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