To The Tune Of Wu Ling Spring Late Spring Poem 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.