A woman bends over a rock and slips off her trousers so her lover, who is pulling himself off, can take her from behind.
Her black eyebrows are the envy of spring,
crashing waves of her eyes vex the autumn moon.
Graciously she glides amidst the flowers
and when the breeze passes, her sleeve billows.
This slender body never could endure an autumn
and she mournfully drags on interminable days.
What moves her above all else?
A bamboo’s shadow shuddering over clear water…
Zhao Yong
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2 comments:
GEEZ!
". . . her sleeve billows. . ." Silk, I hope. (Why is that my Word Verification spells out L-A-B-I-A-L-L-U-N-C-H ???)
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