How Is The Plum Poem by Charles WOO

Looking at north, I know my homeland is much farther.
Being home sick, I want to see plums in late winter.
I ask my friend if their jade cheeks are still covered by mist.
Whether their blossoms grow stamen is in my checklist.
Their branches interlock together dredging queer shadow.
Fragrance from their concentric buds goes through the window.
When can I rest on my window to admire such flower?
For many years far from home, I am still a wanderer.

Chinese paintings & calligraphy about all Charles Wu's poems

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