Poems of Meng Jiao
Outside it's spring. But in this wanderer, sadness.
At each right moment, something intervened.
Old flowers don't take to new branches.
But new tears will fall on old clothes.
When said and done, two are cold and lonely,
Floating free, heading for the same end.
A third woman, perhaps. Not Meng Jiao's first wife. Not willow-branchless woman. Perhaps, no one at all but a poetic fiction. Artists do create images from their understanding of the world. And while I am the first to go mining for truth in a poet's work, the historical truth of anything need not be there. You can notice here that change that begun, so far as one can tell, with Autumn Mind. Just compare it to his older poems about missing women.