DAILY PHOTO: Tbilisi Reservoir
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Improv Wisdom: Don’t Prepare, Just Show Up by Patricia Ryan MadsonHand in hand.
Plum petals floated to her skirt.
-- Love unbound --
Now, lost souls mill about:
Thier loved ones long unseen.
Old songs are heard once more,
Recalling Tower and Temple.
On ordinary days,
I'd write a thousand lines.
Now, I brush away dust,
And think of us, together.
The moon reflects in the lake.
Willows droop beside water.
A dragon-head cloud drifts on air.
Note: Translated titles vary. e.g. Xu Yuanchong entitles his translation “Song of Incense.”
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summer's pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.