Two Poems Written In An Inn By The Jialing River

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In an inn by the Jialing, my traveler’s bed feels empty.
The water flows noisily all night.
I gaze at trees on the mountain past the south wall,
and see wild flowers teasing me in soft moonlight.

Branches blooming outside press on the low wall.
The bright moon lights up half my bed.
No one understands how I feel at this moment.
In the western chamber all night I sleep alone.

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