8 Jul 2018 sye   » (Journeyer)



By a broken bridge of deserted outpost,
No more master no new post
yet opens spring plum blossom

Dusk falling, its melancholy is itself
or perhaps wind and rain in its company.

Willingly to let spring season hurry by,
full of envies from hundred other blossoming flowers

Its kindred self being scattered and turning into dust
Only a whiff of sweet scent lingered long after.

卜算子1·咏梅 by Mao Zedong



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