Monday, October 20, 2008

Both of us were young

My hair had hardly covered my forehead.
I was picking flowers.
I was playing by my door.
You, my lover, came on a bamboo horse.
You were trotting in circles.
You were throwing green plums.
We lived near each other.
We lived on a lane in Ch’ang-Kan.
Both of us were young.
Both of us were happy-hearted.
At fourteen I became your wife.
I was so bashful.
I dared not smile.
I lowered my head toward a dark corner.
I would not turn to your thousand calls.
But at fifteen I straightened my brows.
I laughed.
I learned something.
No dust could ever seal our love.
Even unto death I would await you by my post.
And I would never lose heart in the tower of silent watching.


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