The weeping willows are hazy like in smoke;
Flying in wind petals—whirling about like sleet.
The husband lives apart, leaving his wife's district;
The wife resides in thinking of her husband's region.
Each one is at the opposite bank of the heavenly river;
Who knows when will they meet together once again?
I'm sending my words to the Bright Moon Tower—
You find no more the flying together mated swifts.
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