Poems of Meng Jiao
Thanking Li Zhou again for coming
Waiting idly for a late visitor.
Husband and wife both upset.
It's really the young man who is at fault.
But there's no need for such tears.
Last night I dreamed of swords
And the way you hide your feelings.
It was a kind of torture to me
To see your clothes so stained with blood.
You troubled yourself to visit us again,
Your words always above the commonplace.
I couldn't bear to go outside, not with that
Blood writing on our dusty walls.
That bloody writing's brightness does not fade.
My heart was fearful, expecting the worst.
To be able to see such a man as you
Filled my eyes with light.
The light you brought was worth the wait.
And with it you brought serenity.
Hard times. Fighting outside Meng Jiao's house that left the wall splashed with blood. Meng Jiao in the house, with his wife and mother and sister-in-law. Old sword in his hand, he's sixty years old. And then, it seems, Li Zhou, perhaps with other men, came and brought them peace. Stained with blood, he came in and told them it was all well now. Quite a poem.