When we met the first time at Ch-ang-an
He called me the -Lost Immortal-.
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting.
Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine.
Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.
Ho Chih-chang
Li Po
(1)
Poem topics: lost, time, dust, golden, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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