LAST, BEST-LOVED DAUGHTER OF OLD HSIEH, YOU WHO FOOLISHLY RAN OFF WITH THAT PENNILESS BOY, WHO MENDED HIS CLOTHES WITH PATCHES FROM YOUR OLD CLOTHES BROUGHT FROM HOME ... AND I TEASED YOU FOR YOUR GOLD HAIRPINS, SO WE COULD TRADE FOR WINE, AND WE DRANK IT WITH OUR DINNERS OF BERRIES AND HERBS PICKED CHEAP IN THE FIELD, COOKED OVER DRY LEAVES FROM THE FIELD ... NOW, WHEN THEY PAY ME WELL, ALL I CAN GIVE BACK TO YOU IS TEMPLE OFFERINGS.

LONG LONG AGO WE COULD LAUGH AT DYING, BUT DEATH A MAGICIAN CLOSED YOU IN HIS HAND AND OPENED IT SUDDENLY EMPTY. I HAVE LOCKED YOUR NEEDLEWORK AWAY, I HAVE GIVEN YOUR CLOTHES AWAY ... MY EYES ARE NOT STRONG ENOUGH. I AM GENTLE, BECAUSE YOU WERE, TO OUR SERVING-MAIDS AND MEN. SOMETIMES WHEN I DREAM I DREAM I SHOWER YOU WITH GIFTS. ALL OF US MUST KNOW SUCH SORROW ... TO KNOW IT BEST YOU MUST FIRST BE POOR AND HAPPY TOGETHER.

HERE I SIT ALONE, HERE I SIGH FOR BOTH OF US. HOW MANY BEADS MUST I STILL COUNT UPON MY STRING OF TIME? BETTER MEN THAN I HAVE GROWN OLD WITHOUT A SON ... A BETTER POET SANG TO HIS DEAD WIFE WHO COULD NOT HEAR.

WE NEVER SAID THAT WE WOULD MEET AGAIN IN DEATH. I HAVE NO HOPE BEYOND THE DARKNESS. ALL I HAVE, IS TO STARE INTO THE NIGHT, SEEING AGAIN AND AGAIN THAT LITTLE WORRIED WRINKLE IN YOUR BROW. [Yuan Chen]