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Old dreams are dim and past events indistinct,
amongst spring flowers and autumn moon.
The flowers within fog and the moon on water’s surface,
waver in and out of sight.
He comes with fanfare and leaves without a word,
as mercurial as the weather.
Though we have come to treasure and find delight in each other,
always, what is gained will be lost.
A poem to be completed,
a song to be complemented,
a love yet to be committed;
we hoped to think only of us and be together forever,
but in the end zither and flute were left behind in the emptiness.
We had come to love each other,
bonded by heart
and closer still by body;
each wished never to forget, never to betray the other.
Yet how could that stand against hatred and lies?
What we were given was not what we wished
and what we wished, we were never given;
watch fate mock us and fortune play us in its games.
Even the purest sentiments wither and fall as crimson flowers in the wind.
Despite hopes for a clear moon,
sunlight
and spring’s cleansing breeze,
the furious wind never relented,
harsh rain and snow destroyed the plum blossoms, snapping their branches.
The phoenixes have flown away with a flutter of their feathers,
have disappeared without a trace.
Do you hear the rain fall on Wu Tong trees,
wind caressing memories and rustling leaves?
Rain falls on the Wu Tong trees, wind caressing memories and rustling leaves.