In crafting its creation, it resembles the edge of Mount Lu,
Where the erudite scholar splits stones and riches vie to sever them.
Not a word dares linger in the air on this fateful eve,
For upon gazing into her enchanting gaze, silence befalls my very being.
The heavens stand lofty, unwilling to engage,
Each moment akin to delicate threads of golden silk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem