Peach blossoms bloomed every spring
There again, the old master came
With red paper and black ink
On a street, where the people claimed
They claimed to buy his writings,
And all praised him while buying
"Just a mere move of his hand
Turns strokes into a phoenix dance!"
But fewer buyers came each year
Admirers, where did they go…?
Unused ink laid like black tears;
Red paper dulled in sorrow…
That old master just sat there
Among those who did not care.
On the dull red fallen dead leaves;
There fell soft rain with slight grief.
Another peach blossoms' spring
Yet the old master is not there.
Oh, where are they wandering
Old fol
Peach blossoms bloomed every spring
There again, the old master came
With red paper and black ink
On a street, where the people claimed
They claimed to buy his writings,
And all praised him while buying
"Just a mere move of his hand
Turns strokes into a phoenix dance!"
But fewer buyers came each year
Admirers, where did they go…?
Unused ink laid like black tears;
Red paper dulled in sorrow…
That old master just sat there
Among those who did not care.
On the dull red fallen dead leaves;
There fell soft rain with slight grief.
Another peach blossoms' spring
Yet the old master is not there.
Oh, where are they wandering
Old fol
