We still love each other as we did when we were schoolboys.

To Wei Pa, A Retired Scholar

The lives of many men are
Shorter than the years since we have
Seen each other. Aldebaran
And Antares move as we have.
And now, what night is this? We sit
Here together in the candle
Light. How much longer will our prime
Last? Our temples are already
Grey. I visit my old friends.
Half of them have become ghosts.
Fear and sorrow choke me and burn
My bowels. I never dreamed I would
Come this way, after twenty years,
A wayfarer to your parlor.
When we parted years ago,
You were unmarried. Now you have
A row of boys and girls, who smile
And ask me about my travels.
How have I reached this time and place?
Before I can come to the end
Of an endless tale, the children
Have brought out the wine. We go
Out in the night and cut young
Onions in the rainy darkness.
We eat them with hot, steaming,
Yellow millet. You say, "It is
Sad, meeting each other again."
We drink ten toasts rapidly from
The rhinoceros horn cups.
Ten cups, and still we are not drunk.
We still love each other as
We did when we were schoolboys.
Tomorrow morning mountain peaks
Will come between us, and with them
The endless, oblivious
Business of the world.

- Tu Fu, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, One Hundred Poems From The Chinese

Tu Fu (712–770) wrote this poem near the end of the Tang dynasty, in a time of war and displacement. Rexroth called him 'the greatest non-epic, non-dramatic poet who has survived in any language.' The poem moves in the Taoist spirit of wu wei — not forcing the reunion, not resisting the parting, only sitting with what is. It asks, quietly, what friendship holds across the years — and what the world's business takes away.