Poems of Meng Jiao
Escorting my uncle Duan Shi to the lands of Chu
Feeling returns of floating in emptiness,
Rowing, wandering the waves of Chu.
Cooling ourselves with a feathered fan as
Our cloth sail sifts the gentle wind.
River flowers -- we pluck lotus blossoms,
Tie up the boat in shadows of parasol trees.
My best uncle sings his farewell.
My life's sadness is inexhaustible.
Strange to think of Meng Jiao as sad. I think of this as his burden of empathy. And also, it is a part of the reality of living in times where life is so often unexpectedly ended. All this would set the present moment in sharp relief against the darkness.