Classic Poem

Where among the blue clouds
can I send my distant thoughts?
Events of the past—only the months and years remember.
His free spirit, a dream of past and present;
his remaining ink, a date between the living and the dead.
I remember you with feeling—
your life cannot be brought back;
as for me, my thinning hair is completely white.
I want to chant your lines about those days
at the river city—
but with blurry eyes, and tears of sad rain
I can't get through the poem.