Butterfly in Love with Flowers
How deep is the deep inner court's garden?
Mist shrouds the willows, like many layers of curtain.
While travelers ride on horses with decorated saddles and reins jade-laden,
From the high tower I cannot see the road to the Zhang Terrace.
Stormy is the wind and rain of March evening,
The door blocks out the night, but cannot stop the passing of spring.
As I turn my teary eyes to plead with the silent blossoms,
Their red petals scatter and drift across the swing.