Verse of the Remnant Gossamer by Li Ho
The time when leaves of weeping willows turn old, orioles feed their young.
Still some lingering gossamers, the wasps are already gone.
Youngsters with dark locks and ladies wearing golden hairpins,
Drown in liquor amber, sinking at the bottom of bluish-white flagon.
Twilight comes near to the flower terrace, spring bids farewell.
Fallen petals rise and dance along the swirling wind.
One by one the elm seeds drop, too many to count,
As if the green coins of Shen Ch’ung covering the walled city road.