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Holding my sweater and
Facing the fragrant peony,
I sense how different our viewpoints are.
Someday our hair will turn gray,
Yet the flowers will be this red each year;
Following the morning dew,
Each blooms gorgeously
Then their sweet scent is
Chased by the evening winds.
Why wail till they have withered and fallen
To understand such emptiness?
- Fa Yen (885–958)
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