A Drunken Flower

The sound of beating oars wafts in among the flowers.
This shy, gentle girl comes in search of me,
bringing lotus leaves to sip from…
Our skiff rocks among the lilies,
little red waves in the wine.

Her way, wine fragrance, pure as fine vintage.
The flower’s face flushed, the drunkard’s pink;
we two facing.

Drunk, we rested in deep shade;
we napped awhile and woke to find
the boat stuck on a sandbar

-Ouyang Xiu (A.D 1007-1072)

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