A Poetic Collage

There's poetry in the shapes of the script;
music in the sound of an unknown
tongue drifting in the breeze

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windchimes tinkle
leaves flutter
a river rushes by

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a red book
on a wooden table -
its pages shiver.


inspired by:

On Hearing a Lute-Player by Liu' Chang-ch'ing
Your seven strings are like the voice
Of a cold wind in the pines,
Singing old beloved songs
Which no one cares for any more.

the only translated poem in a red book of Chinese poetry

for Totally Optional Prompts