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Ode on Pipa

At night, I go to bid farewell to a guest at shore of river.
Soughing wind carries maple leaves and reed flowers.
I, the host, dismount and meet the guest inside the boat.
We’re not entertained by string music while drinking.
We can’t get drunk and sadly we’re about to part soon.
In saying goodbye, moon is soaked in vast misty water.

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