How I long for those days of pens and ink, when calligraphy ruled, and bits and bytes were things around a dining table. 来是空言去绝踪，  lái shì kōng yán qù jué zōng 月斜楼上五更种。  yuè xié lóu shàng wǔ gēng zhǒng 梦为远别啼难唤，  mèng wéi yuǎn bié tí nán huàn 书被催成墨末浓。  shū bèi cuī chéng mò mò nóng 蜡照半笼金翡翠，  là zhào bàn lóng jīn fěi cuì 麝熏微度绣芙蓉。  shè xūn wēi dù xiù fú róng 刘郎已恨蓬山远，  liú láng yǐ hèn péng shān yuǎn 更隔蓬山一万重。  gēng gé péng shān yī wàn zhòng Arrive is just an empty word, you leave without a…… Continue reading Poem Without a Title 12