Fallen leaves desultorily drift over pot plants lined stairs,
The night is still, bar a few murmurings of insects.
I roll up the beaded screens to admire the azure dome,
Clear is the sky, the Milky Way casts its shine towards the ground like drapes.
Every year this time, the moon beams smoothly like silk,
Yet thousands of miles away is the object of my affections.
Already rent is my heart, I cannot be more intoxicated,
Before I could further drink up, I've already more tears shed.
Lying askew is a pillow by the gleam of a dimming lamp,
How familiar I am with what it's like to in loneliness sleep and dwell.
So often reminded of this I am, it weighs on my mind and brows,
Yet there is nothing I can do to it fend.