The Beauty in a Thousand Year
In the moonlit night, flowers and maple trees are sleepless.
Behind the curtains spreads the sadness
In the starry night, dancing sleeves and breeze are speechless.
Under the eaves flow the memories.
The moondust and starlight are running through my fingertips.
The scene is as what it was in the past.
Who slept in the wind for a thousand year,
writing down the immortal poems?
The sound of flute sounds sweet and clear,
floating high in the deep clouds.
The beauty still sits in the setting sun.
Unconsciously, a thousand years have passed.
Behind the curtains spreads the sadness
In the starry night, dancing sleeves and breeze are speechless.
Under the eaves flow the memories.
The moondust and starlight are running through my fingertips.
The scene is as what it was in the past.
Who slept in the wind for a thousand year,
writing down the immortal poems?
The sound of flute sounds sweet and clear,
floating high in the deep clouds.
The beauty still sits in the setting sun.
Unconsciously, a thousand years have passed.