I saw the fare welling hands
They looked sickly ,
When my hand
touched her cold and long fingers
which were from the family of the wailing reed ,
It gripped an eternal grief in its fist
The pen's backbone broke,
And pain
Like the black drops of ink
dropped on our papery hearts.
I saw fare welling hands,
They looked sickly:
Stranger to love and benevolence,
They were the hand of age .
History has recorded our papery hearts
By the reed
and each part of the reed
Complains of the massnavi of our groans.
The lines in your hands
(these winding roads that are so intermingled)
Are familiar to my eyes.
Believe me
The lines in your hand
Are more familiar to me than my own lines....
Ah
O friend...
They buried us together in the grave
A thousand years ago,
And this is the friendship of centuries and centuries of
death.
We saw the fare welling hands,
They looked sickly.
They were the hands of time ,
There were the hand of the millennium.
