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Aug 11
Tea leaves ever-reaching,
Between willow and lake,
A reflection of the past.
Grass flake, wind strides,
Rustling my heart, life has passed.
You have come, whom mind to grasp?
Ink is numb, painting never lasts.
Silver blossom flower shed tears;
Are you here?
My painting incomplete, Ink where?
Your meal to eat, life once again repeats.
The gate is neat, Chang’an never closer;
Heaven open like sheets, Earth is not sober.
old willow
Written by
old willow  17/M
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