By CAI Shen
Up on her pillow
piles her long black silky hair.
Her emerald hairpin aglow
has been fallen before she realizes when and where.
Awakened from her nap, the fairy Fair,
the fair sees nothing but the welcoming reds and graceful greens of spring.
How can the faintly fine-looking belle bear,
bear another spring's suffering!
For like the pearl turning yellow and pale, old she's getting.
Beside a bridge opens her red door
under a weeping willow.
Often at the door she waits for the lad, her sweet heart-sore,
Wait for him straight till the night candle flames her room window.
And often she mistakes other men as her beau
passing on horseback. Oh, How is it heart-breaking!
A pretty young thing though,
she can only count her thumbs despairingly in the boring
and dull long nights of her should-be romantic years and suffer sorrow's sting.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem