Piteous the Moon
(To the Tune of Dielianhua)
So piteous the moon seems:
a full circle keeps waning,
waning into half a circle, and then
all over again, night after night.
If only you could recover likewise,
from the half to the full,
your body, cold as ice, as snow,
would be brought to life
by the warmth of mine.
Irrecoverably, you left me.
The swallows twitter lovingly, as before,
on the soft valance hooks.
It does not alleviate my agony
to sing through the “Autumn Elegies.”
Oh that we could be a pair of butterflies
flying amidst the spring flowers,
in the next life.