Classic Poem

Suddenly learning of your passage through Mino,
lost in joy, I hastened to see you where you were.
The moment we met, greetings yet to be exchanged,
you launched into a vivid account of your time in Kyoto.
Your story long, the winter evening short,
the ten o'clock drum sounded from the city tower.
The next day you had to leave early, pack and all,
on a hurried trip, unable to waste a day.
I knew you were tired, eager to go to bed,
but lingering, I told you my deepest thoughts.
Your palanquin stored several plum branches
for you to smell on the way to write poetry.
When we parted at last, you gave me one of them,
which, once home, I put in a vase by a blue screen.
Cold skin like ice, bones like stone,
its scent, touching, brought back my friends.
In spring wind, in the Second Month, near Fushimi,
we had all marveled at a thousand snowy plums.