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. /S+Bre53f7xGBhOqKdZmHHCnI5z4HALUUH9acXItXeD7id769tQXbw5NL2qQ19If