YOUNG GIRLS OF OLD
IN A TINY GROVE WITH FLOWERS EVERYWHERE, YOUNG GIRLS OF DAYS GONE BY SIT LOOKING IN THEIR MIRRORS.
THEY SAY: “SOMETIMES WE THINK THAT WE HAVE GROWN OLD, THAT OUR HAIR IS WHITE AND OUR EYES NO LONGER CLEAR AS THE NEW MOON.... BUT IT IS NOT TRUE! OUR MIRRORS ARE BEWITCHED WITH WINTER, AND THEY LIE! IT IS THE MIRRORS THAT MAKE OUR HAIR LIKE SNOW AND WRINKLE OUR YOUNG FACES! BUT WICKED WINTER CAN BEWITCH OUR MIRRORS ONLY, NOT OURSELVES.... FOREVER, WE ARE UNCHANGED.” [Wang Chang-ling]
THE MINIATURE PAVILION
HERE IS THE LITTLE LAKE, HERE THE LITTLE PAVILION OF WHITE PORCELAIN. THE TINY JADE BRIDGE CURVES ... THE BACK OF A CROUCHING LION.
BOON COMPANIONS GATHER IN THE MINIATURE HALL. THEY CHATTER AND DRINK WINE.... THEY STARE AT THE FLICKERING REFLECTIONS OF PEONIES THAT LINE THE BANK. SOME OF THE COMPANIONS, LONG SLEEVES PUSHED BACK, CAPS LOW OVER EYES, ARE WRITING POEMS.
THE ARCH OF THE BRIDGE IS A CRESCENT MOON.... THE REFLECTED PEONIES A COMPANY OF DANCING GIRLS. [Li Po]
PICKING THE LOTUS
THE HARVEST MOON IS BURNING THE WATERS OF SOUTH LAKE. DRIFTING ALONE, I LEAN DOWN TO PICK WHITE LOTUS LILIES.
FIERCE DESIRE PULLS ME.... I YEARN TO TELL THEM OF MY PASSION. ALAS, MY BOAT FLOATS AWAY AT MERCY OF THE MOVING CURRENT. MY HEART LOOKS BACK IN SADNESS. [Li Po]