Classic Poem

Of my flesh and blood, only one remains,
my sister, ten years older than me.
I go to see her, knocking at her door;
white hair hangs about her face.
When she hears the sound and knows her brother's here
she comes out to greet me, in fine spirits.
She speaks many words with much self-awareness,
sitting upright, instructs me forcefully.
And we agree that the next day
together we will visit mother's tomb.
In years past, to wait upon
her compassionate visage
there were only my sister and myself.
In the morning, we pour the wine libation,
not knowing if her soul can drink or not.
Sister is a woman in her seventies,
and I — the brother — have come a thousand miles.
Who will be able to visit here again?
Unbearable, the sadness that we feel.