In Spring


Your grasses up north are as blue as jade,
Our mulberries here curve green-threaded branches;
And at last you think of returning home,
Now when my heart is almost broken....
O breeze of the spring, since I dare not know you,
Why part the silk curtains by my bed?


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.