Who knew that when I was sick,
you would be the one who suffered?
Lying in bed, suddenly I was startled from my pillow,
Leaning on the others, I wept in front of your lamp.
It turns out to be hard to have a daughter--
I have no son, how can I avoid grief?
The sickness came, took only ten days,
even though we'd raised you for three years.
Miserable tears, crying voices, everything hurt painfully.
Your old clothes lonely on the hanger, the medicine at your bedside.
I sent you through the deep village lanes,
I saw the tiny grave in the field.
Don't tell me it's three li away--
this separation is till the end of days.
--Bai Juyi 白居易 (772-846)
豈料吾方病，飜悲汝不全。
仄仄平平仄，平平仄仄平。
臥驚從枕上，扶哭就燈前。
仄平○仄仄，平仄仄平平。
有女誠爲累，無兒豈免憐。
仄仄平平仄，平平仄仄平。
病來纔十日，養得已三年。
仄平平仄仄，仄仄仄○平。
慈淚隨聲迸，悲腸遇物牽。
平仄平平仄，平平仄仄○。
故衣猶架上，殘藥尚頭邊。
仄○○仄仄，平仄仄平平。
送出深村巷，看封小墓田。
仄仄○平仄，○○仄仄平。
莫言三里地，此別是終天。
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