The Nineteenth Day of the Second Month
In the western district, north of the road, only the voices of merchants.
No willows, no blossoms, no cry of the warbler.
Since the coming of spring, fifty days have passed,
yet I find not one thing that stirs the feeling of spring.
No willows, no blossoms, no cry of the warbler.
Since the coming of spring, fifty days have passed,
yet I find not one thing that stirs the feeling of spring.
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