Classic Poem

I remember when we made our first promises of love—
behind a door-curtain shadowed with blossoms
you played the zither for me.
We only wanted the candle to drip and drip with silver wax,
and paid the water clock no heed as it sounded hour after hour!
You would throw open the lattice shades
to let in the chattering swallows,
or put aside your music
to hear the orioles sing.
Hand in hand we didn't hope for titles or high station,
only to pass through this life together perched on the same branch.