You'd composed for me "TianYu," a song,
Then you simply flew off afar;
While straining to peer along
Your trace through the stars,
I expected its melody to spiral into the air
At night as sure as tuberoses would bloom.
So it did like a whirling flare
Amidst the midnight's gloom;
My soul by way of its ploy
Spiraled off like a classic serial;
And the vast overbearing void
Shrank into a desolate burial
Of my weary and dreary life.
But “TianYu” the song survives.