Now reciting two pieces of elegiac verses of yours,
I wrote this poem in grieving those deceased friends.
Fewer and fewer are our old acquiances, we lament.
more and more are our tributes to them in our writings, we regret.
In the grove, new leaves keep on replacing the old ones;
on the river, waves in front always make way to the rear ones.
Throughout years the same kind of grief people continued to suffer
even the mournful music had drained the tears we could offer.