East of Luoyang City are plum and peach blossoms,
Flying hither and thither, onto whose door will it land?
Ladies of Luoyang with such fair faces,
Yet deep sighs follow the sight of fallen flowers.
As this year’s flowers wilt, our faces will also change,
But who will be here to witness next year’s falls?
Having seen pines and oaks cut into firewood,
And heard dry fields turn into seas.
No more past dwellers in Luoyang City’s east,
While present ones still facing the spring breeze.
Year after year, days after days,
The flowers seem the same,
Days after days, years after years,
The people never stay.