Butterflies lingering over Flowers


Deep, deep the courtyard where he is, so deep
It’s veiled by smoke-like willows heap on heap,
By curtain on curtain and screen on screen.
Leaving his saddle and bridle, there he has been merry-making.
From my tower he can’t be seen.
The third month now, the wind and rain are raging late,
At dusk I bar the gate,
But I can’t bar in spring.
My tearful eyes ask flowers but they fail to bring an answer.
I see blossoms fall beyond the swing.