Inscribed on a Painting of a Wu-t'ung Tree by Myself
A wu-t'ung tree a hundred feet tall,
half an acre of shade;
each branch, each leaf filled with the heart of autumn.
When will I be able to leave my bones behind
and fly back here on a phoenix
to hear the white zither in the moonlight?
half an acre of shade;
each branch, each leaf filled with the heart of autumn.
When will I be able to leave my bones behind
and fly back here on a phoenix
to hear the white zither in the moonlight?
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