Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

When we met the first time at Ch’ang-an
He called me the ‘Lost Immortal’.
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting.
Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine.
Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.

Previous Poem
Hard Is The Journey
Next Poem
Lament For Mr Tai