September 12th, 2016
Li T’ai-po (701-?)
Taking Leave of a Friend
Green mountains rise to the north,
white water rolls on into the east.
Here, friend, we say our last goodbye.
You sail away with clouds
roaming down the sky.
The sun will always die in that far state.
That memory will be mine.
We turn, pause, look back, and wave.
Even your pony looks back and whineys.