When we met the first time at Ch’ang-an
He called me the ‘Lost Immortal’.
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting.
Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine.
Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.
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Comments1WOW, THIS POEM HIT ME RIGHT IN THE FEELS, REALITY OF LIFE UNDERNEATH THOSE PINE TREES. IT'S SO DEEP, MADE ME THINK BOUT LOSS AND MEMORY. TEARING UP A LIL BIT HERE, GOTTA BE HONEST.