February 27th, 2018

Spring and summer the fragrant plants grow,
In clusters of green they flourish.
In the solitude of the deserted wood,
Flowers sprout from purple stems.
Slowly the white sun reaches journey's end,
Softly the autumn wind begins to blow.
The glory of the year wilts and falls,
Your fragrant inclination,
What has become of it?

Ch'en Tzu-ang (658-699)