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Complaint of Parting

Meng Jiao

The soughing autumn wind is blowing;

Grieved, I complain my man is going.

We face each other eye to eye;

Before I speak, I sob and sigh.

My heart is like a winding stream,

How can I tell my dreary dream?

When I miss him after we part,

We can but share moonlight apart. ay7wh94/EQrr7kiXnbEkBWlV0Uw0kfo3f8/mtzdruERumnbM6DpvRpJp8b2iv/Bk

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