The Sand by Wan Creek

Li, Qing-zhao (1081 A.D.-1154A.D.?)

    I do not allow myself to drink strong wine or use a deep glass. My thoughts melt even before I become drunk. The sparse sound of bells come with the evening wind. As the fragrance of incense vanishes, my love dream suddenly ends. My hairpin is too small, so my hair bun is loose. When I awaken, the red candlelight is all I see.