April 05^th, 2019

Picking Tea: A Ballad

Thunder roars past creeks and mountains,
Dark clouds bringing warm days;
From shady clusters,
Sprouts begin to rear their heads.
Wearing silver hairpins,
Girls respond to each other in songs
Whose basket shows that
She has picked the most?
As they come home,
The fragrance still clings to their hands;
Their choicest crop
Is offered first to the magistrate.