One Thought, a Mortal Life · Stubborn and Foolish by Nature · 03 / 102
· Seeking Word
No word comes. Autumn hills; a fan idly stirs the cool. The sobs over frozen buds; down the windy path a zither soars. Cold bamboo and frosted grass pare the shadows at the window; butterflies worked in needle and thread; the dream short, the sky long.
The jade-disc moon, made up and still, shrinks from the blazing river; banana leaves in the clear light half fend off the hurry. A sprig of plum veils the water and gathers in the spring; the go game ended on , the hidden stands without peer.
*This is an original work. If you reproduce it, please credit the original author Shixi Lin; any infringement, once discovered, will be pursued for legal liability. In addition, the accompanying image comes from the internet and belongs to the original illustrator Merasgar.