Qingming Festival: Remembering Loved Ones
Qingming brings sorrow to the soul,
For nothing pains more than parting from kin.
On the hill of short pines, beneath the moonlit night,
The cuckoo's cry mourns the departed!
Kindness and virtue echo through the ages, Diligence and goodness remain among men.
Another year brings sorrow's chill, Tears well as I gently touch the tombstone.
Kneeling low, I kiss the earth upon the grave, Unwilling to see loved ones buried beneath.
The tree longs for stillness, yet the wind won't cease; The child wishes to care, but parents won't wait.> > Wind and rain in late spring's time, > > No flowers, no wine on Qingming's day. > > Sacrificial flames flicker, dying lamps glow, > > Paper money rises, transforming into white butterflies. > > Heart-wrenching sorrow continues, beyond control, > > A fragment of longing lingers in the wild. > > A message to those with kin: practice filial piety, > > Do not wait until they're gone to stand speechless.