Glories of the past

I dreamed that you and I were on a small boat floating on vast lake, and snow was falling from the sky, only they were plum blossoms, and it wasn’t a dream; you and I were traveling to Mount Lu. We are both tourists from other places. We sang together until tears and the west wind drenched the tablecloth. When you left, forests lost their leaves; orchids and angelica lost their colors. Who says we can’t repeat the glories of the past?