A southern song, written in Huzhou Tom Sharp

Rain from the mountains has passed by; a bridge over the stream is empty. An apple tree graces a small garden at the secluded pavilion. Colorful boats cross over the moonlight. No more frost. If snow persists on the water, it’s indistinguishable from moonlight. The river runs between two mountains— a green gate to the sea. The city is lost in the clouds.