Three poems from the Chinese flute

The flow'rs of evening poured their fragrance into the dusk.
A distant voice like the zephyrs' tender breath sang to me 
Through the dark and trembling leaves. 

From out the brush I plucked a twig of willow 
And my song, as if in answer, filled the blossoming night.

And then, when evening robes the earth with darkness,
The birds hear a flute even as their own voice.