For a friend

A good friend visits; then, like the tide he leaves. Ancient poetry and old friends never get old but writing poems together doesn’t stop the sun from setting. I try to learn from the past, not to obsess over it. I’ve been called to serve at the capital again where I hope that politics doesn’t go against me. Take the road by the west bank of the West Lake, and appreciate its green and misty beauty. And don’t look back, since there’s no need to cry.