Grass
How Iushly
the grasses grow on the plain!
Year after year,
they wither before flourishing.
No wildfire can
burn them all.
When spring winds blow,
they sprout once more.
Far away, their fragrance
pervades the ancient road;
on a clear day, their green
extends to the ruined wall.
Now it is you whom I must
see off, my dear friend.
How can the Iuxuriant grass
not feel my parting pain!
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