(Chinese Grave Day)
On Qingming I climbed the ridge
to visit the azalea.
All foliage was always flourishing
but flowers were faded.
Thinking about those scenes
far aback and away.
Fortunately showers came
to cover my face.
My first son went to my native land
to visit our ancestors’ graves.
He transmitted me a roll of photos
to have some long gaze.
Merely a few pine trees were green
all others were so grim.
This time it was only my fingers
could cover my grief.
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