Classic Poem

The kudzu spreads till it darkens the brier,
the bindweed blankets the fields.
My beautiful one—he's not here—
who would I live with, if not alone?

The kudzu spreads till it darkens the thorn tree,
the bindweed blankets the graves
My beautiful one—he's not here—
who would I sleep with, if not alone?

My pillow of horn gleams brightly,
my brocade coverlet glows,
my beautiful one—he isn't here—
who would I greet the dawn with, if not alone?

Days of summer,
winter nights:
after a hundred years have passed,
I'll join you in your dwelling

Nights of winter,
summer days:
after a hundred years are over,
I'll join you in your room.