The cuckoo's song announces the end of flowers' fragrance. I pluck one of the
last blossoms to treasure Spring. The drifting rain and ferocious wind herald
the season that bears green plums. In quiet Yong-feng 1 Park, the
fluffy willow seeds, like snow, dance in the air all day. I should not strum the
strings. When I lament to the extreme, the zither can talk. The sky will not
grow old. It is difficult to end my love. My heart, intertwined with yours like
a pair of tangled webs, has a thousand knots. The night is almost gone. The
lonely lamp has been extinguished. The eastern window is not yet bright.
Yong-feng is the name of a street in Lo-yang City.
The last three sentences hint that the poet has not slept all night.