A Painting of Yams
I still remember the time at the mountain hut,
going to bed late at night…
I called a friend over
and we chanted poems
in the cold lamplight,
then, over a pinewood fire in the brazier
we roasted yams,
and when we stood up to open the window,
saw the snow outside.
going to bed late at night…
I called a friend over
and we chanted poems
in the cold lamplight,
then, over a pinewood fire in the brazier
we roasted yams,
and when we stood up to open the window,
saw the snow outside.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.