Classic Poem

I remember last year when I was called back to the capital,
three of us on the road home together.
But this life of ours is wholly a thing of dreams,
and past events in no time turn to emptiness.
Shuo-chih's body lies in the Yellow Springs,
Yü-p'ing went like a candle before the wind.
Only Lo-t'ien still alive,
hair gray, now headed east of the Yangtze.