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LI FU-JEN
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still.
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?
Is it or isn't it?
I stand and look.
The swish, swish of a silk skirt.
How slow she comes!
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