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Liu Zhangqing · Medieval
inglés
New Year's only deepens my longing,
Adds to the lonely tears of an exile
Who, growing old and still in harness,
Is left here by the homing spring . . .
Monkeys come down from the mountains to haunt me.
I bend like a willow, when it rains on the river.
I think of Chia Yi, who taught here and died here—
And I wonder what my term shall be.
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