Li Qingzhao (1084-1151)
To the Tune of Crimson Lips Adorned

 Ride in the swing
	done
 she stands up
	languid
	flexing delicate fingers
 Dew drops, dew drops
	on thin petals
 mist of perspiration
	dampening
	her sheer dress through
 She looks
	A stranger coming
 Silk stockings all down,
	gold hairpin askew
 Shy
	she runs
and, leaning against the doorjamb,
	looks back
	lingering
		to sniff at a green plum.

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