The Fourteenth Song
Sans my sons, I returned to my country,
My yearning for them like hunger gnaws me.
All things, highs or lows, change like four seasons,
But only my pain perpetual will be.
Oh, high hills and vast land keep us apart
Till deep at night into my dream you’d dart.
We are holding hands, so glad yet so sad
Till I awake, sans end grief rives my heart.
This fourteenth song I shed tears to compose,
Long like an eastbound river my yen grows.
Tr. Xiao Cao