The jade flute sends off cool autumn;
On the red plantain, dew has not dried.
The night fragrance is fading don’t lean from the high tower!
The cold moon and the traveler are both sojourners;
She keeps me company in a somber land.
Into the small courtyard comes frontier grief;
Iron weapons litter old haunts.
Where can one find a small boat in the five lakes?
In my dream the river’s cries blend with sobbing tears;
Why don’t they flow toward my old home?