by Li Ch'ing-Chao
Spring after spring, I sat before my mirror. Now I tire of braiding plum buds in my hair. I've gone another year without you, shuddering with each letter - Since you've gone, even wine has lost its flavor. I wept until it was autumn, my thoughts going south besides you. Even the gates of Heaven are nearer to me now than you.
I have new work and I'm taking an art class. The problem is my lack of digital transfer ability. Please wait on me.