Li Po (701-762 / Chu / Kazakhstan)
When we met the first time at Ch’ang-an
He called me the ‘Lost Immortal’.
Then he loved the Way of Forgetting.
Now under the pine-trees he is dust.
His golden keepsake bought us wine.
Remembering, the tears run down my cheeks.
Comments about this poem (Ho Chih-chang by Li Po )
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