Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 155

Mama Mada
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
To the Tune Of Wu Ling Spring Late Spring
by Li Qingzhao
Wind ceased, the dust is scented with fallen flowers.
Though day is getting late, I am too weary
to attend my hair.
Things remain as ever, yet his is here no more,
and all is finished.
Fain wound I speak, but tar flow first.
They say that at the Twin Brooks spring is still fiar.
I, too, wish to row a boat there.
But I am afraid that the little skiff
on the Twin Brooks
Could not bear the heavy load of my grief.
On Gazing Into a Mirror by Li Po
Follow Tao, and nothing is old or new.
Lose it, and the ruins of age return.
Someone smiling back in the mirror,
hair white as the frost-stained glass,
you admit lament is empty, ask how
reflections get so worn and withered.
How speak of peach and plum: timeless
South Mountain blazes in the end?
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