Classic Poem

Since I was suddenly sent away
I had to leave you far behind;
between this western outpost and the eastern hedge at home
barriers and mountains cut off all word.
Not only does the earth yawn between us,
but we must face the sharp chills of heaven.
Unable to sleep, I fret in silence
at the flurry and tumble of an all-night snow.
Nearby I watch white-thatched roofs being buried;
far away I know your jade-sleek stalks must be breaking.
The old family servant ran off long ago—
who will brave the cold to sweep your branches clean?
Upright by nature, you bend in confusion;
holding firm, you are mercilessly cracked and broken.
Your tall stalks would have made fine fishing poles—
I'm sorry I didn't cut them sooner;
short ones were just right for writing slips—
a pity I didn't long ago whittle them into shape.
With writing slips to fondle, fishing poles to dip,
how unbearably happy life might have been!
No matter how many times I say it, it's useless now,
and only brings more tears and sighs.
Though I cannot be there to prop them up,
I know my bamboos will never forsake their constant green.