Remembering His Friend

Yi Soong-in. (14th Century)

Empty the courtyard where we paced together,

Counting the yellow blossoms in the spring.

Here, where we used to talk of ancient sages,

Your poem[5] flaps upon the mouldered wall.

The wind has torn it and the rain has beaten

Through tattered screens upon the words you wrote.

Yet still I trace your brush strokes and remember

Your “Autumn Song,” the tears with which you wrote.