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.