(COMPOSED BY SU WU IN THE TIME OF THE EMPEROR WU OF HAN)
BY MÊNG CHIAO
Thread from the hands of a doting motherWorked into the clothes of a far-off journeying son.Before his departure, were the close, fine stitches set,Lest haply his return be long delayed.The heart—the inch-long grass—Who will contend that either can repayThe gentle brightness of the Third Month of Spring.
Thread from the hands of a doting motherWorked into the clothes of a far-off journeying son.Before his departure, were the close, fine stitches set,Lest haply his return be long delayed.The heart—the inch-long grass—Who will contend that either can repayThe gentle brightness of the Third Month of Spring.
Thread from the hands of a doting motherWorked into the clothes of a far-off journeying son.Before his departure, were the close, fine stitches set,Lest haply his return be long delayed.The heart—the inch-long grass—Who will contend that either can repayThe gentle brightness of the Third Month of Spring.
Thread from the hands of a doting mother
Worked into the clothes of a far-off journeying son.
Before his departure, were the close, fine stitches set,
Lest haply his return be long delayed.
The heart—the inch-long grass—
Who will contend that either can repay
The gentle brightness of the Third Month of Spring.