In a dream, I return to the moorland.
The mountain air is chilled with ancient precipitation.
Where under this infinite sky is my intimate friend?
Where can she be found engrossed in similar contemplations.
A startled monkey chatters chaotically from a high bough
Dashing birds takes wing in rows
My heart is still nostalgic with memories of your brief stay.
Beautiful scenes and fair weather makes me for long delay;
Amidst dense bamboo, I find that the old paths are overgrown with creepers.
Usually women are my constant source of grief and misery
A thousand bottles cannot awash my deep, deep longing for her.


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