The Cherries all fall after the spring has gone. Butterflies fly in pairs,
dusting light powder from their wings. To the west of the attic, cuckoos
sing to the moon. Silk curtains are hanging on jade hooks. My melancholy is like
lingering mist in the twilight.
After the crowds drift away, the alley becomes lonesome. When I gaze at the
lingering mist, the grass in the distance looks hazy. The smoke rising from the
incense burner curls in the shape of a phoenix. My heart is filled with sorrow
when I look back, carrying a silk ribbon in vain.
In Chinese mythology, during the Warring States Period, King Wang of the
State of Shu lost his kingdom; after he died, he became a cuckoo expressing his
hope and sorrow through his song.