Ch’in on a moonlit night

March 3, 2013 § Leave a comment

The night’s lazy, the moon bright. Sitting

here, a recluse plays his pale white ch’in,

And suddenly, as if cold pines were singing,

it’s all those harmonies of grieving wind.

Intricate fingers flurries of white snow,

empty thoughts emerald-water clarities:

 

No one understands now. Those who could

hear a song this deeply vanished long ago.

 

-Li Po

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