Tz'u No. 13

To the tune of "Song of Peace"

Year by year, in the snow,
I have often gathered plum flowers,
  intoxicated with their beauty.
Fondling them impudently
I got my robe wet with their lucid tears.

This year I have drifted to the corner
  of the sea and the edge
    of the horizon,
My temples have turned grey.

Judging by the gust of the evening wind,
It is unlikely I will again
  enjoy the plum blossoms.