Poetry   and   Then   Some

Luo Yin (833-909)

Whether it be mountain top or rolling plain,

Making honey means to visit every bloom in sight,

To storm the whole terrain.

They labor so at whose command,

for whose delight?

*Ai Yi-Lian (01 September 1998)*

Difficult it was for us to meet, and difficult to part.

Now the east wind has failed, and all the flowers wither.

The silkworm labors until death splitting silk;

The candle's tears are dried when it itself consumes.

Before the mirror, you will fret to find those cloudlike tresses

changing.

Making rhymes at night, you'll find the moonlight has grown
                           chill.

The fairy mountain is not so far from here:

Might the Blue Bird become our go between?