March 27th

Six years have passed in the blink of an eye,
The parting song fades, impossible to retain.
The garden’s roses have already withered and fallen,
Promises now exist only within the wind.
Longing for the water town persists in dreams,
The rising sun understands not the moon’s heart.
Stubbornly clinging to the old ways, unchanged,
Meeting and parting like duckweed, leaving only sighs.
The essence of the “Steamed Cabbage” remains,
Yet I know not who is where.
Who says the heavens do not grow old?
Witnessing the world’s vast changes, I fear to look back.