Classic Poem

Near the window, swallows, in pairs, chatter away;
beyond it, pendulous, pliant, a willow with its branches new.
Leisurely, with scissors in hand, sitting all day,
I've made light clothes, but feel too lazy to try them on.
The days are finally longer, I see, and evenings short;
incense in the duck-shaped censer dead, ashes still warm.
Afraid only that the spring light will soon fade,
I glance at blossoms fluttering down beyond the blinds.