A Burning Bosom
Sitting in this tea-house,
Looking out on the clear cool water
And the silver lilies,
How I wish I could press a dripping lily-pad
On my burning bosom
To ease me of my smart.
A broken heart, you ask, Mar Quong?
No, no, a mustard plaster.
Looking out on the clear cool water
And the silver lilies,
How I wish I could press a dripping lily-pad
On my burning bosom
To ease me of my smart.
A broken heart, you ask, Mar Quong?
No, no, a mustard plaster.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.