Passerby

Cranes move south as the wind rises

Desolate scenery

Sitting alone, brewing a pot of tea

Brewing into nightfall beneath the lanterns

From miles away, I think of him 

A needle and a stitch embroidering a flower.

Dawn frost climbs up the umber roof tiles

Trembling frost falls, my tea has gone cold

Love and hate rise and fall, once the story has passed only I remain

Parting sorrows, finally understanding the affairs of the world, have all descended into drink

Asking you, “Is something lost when your heart is absent?”

And still you never reply.