Clouds dream of giving way,
Flowers dream of mud they can sink their roots into.
The August breeze never came,
Making the concrete seethe with heat
Against my wetting forehead.
If I don’t see you amidst the bustling crowd,
I shall meet you wilted within the mall’s AC.
(A parody on this Chinese poem from the Tang Dynasty, but about the heat in August in China)
Clouds dream of silken robes, flowers dream of fair faces,
The spring breeze brushes against the railing, where dew is thick and rich.
If not seen atop the Mountain of Grouped Jade,
I shall meet you beneath the moon at the Jade Terrace.