This night, a cheerless
summer moon and my
work almost complete.
No one will pass
to stop and praise.
And you cannot see
how you are paining me.
In my voyage of longing,
what torments are there left?
Grief and the ruins
This night, a cheerless
summer moon and my
work almost complete.
No one will pass
to stop and praise.
And you cannot see
how you are paining me.
In my voyage of longing,
what torments are there left?
A Wandering Poet 