Classic Poem

The cherry opens and I enter Kyoto,
the cherry falls and I plan to go home.
Poems in places for thirty days,
not a day without seeing the blossoms.
On eastern hills a thousand layers of snow;
in western suburbs myriad sheaths of haze.
A fun spring, I enjoy it yes,
but what to do with flowers in my hair?
Half of old friends in obituaries;
many acquaintances far away.
Pass by a place of past amusement,
and I feel harrowed even more.
For a drink under blossoms
I force myself into a bannered joint.