She was beautiful,ever so graceful,sitting in the Zen garden,
In the quietude evening of summer,painting a mural,
Art is her muse,as she herself looked like art,a precious and priceless one,
Her eyes shine like gems,so pure,so white,but blind,so sad,
Talented she is in art, although blind,
Fairest skin like porcelain, beautifully clear almost translucent,almost,
Flower fields of blue roses I reside,
And blue air I exhale,
Home is what I see when I look upon her countenance,
Oh her countenance,home of Rosy cheeks and sparkly ruby lips,
I find myself lost within the world of her orbs,
Xue fang,her name,her name,fragrant snow,
Red she wore,with golden flowers and coy fish detailing,
It curved her beauty so effortlessly,
Strings of lush hair cascading down her young spine,
A hairpin,a gift from her ancestors,
Her talent she used so elegantly,she blesses the paper so delicately,
What she don't know is she painted her figure right in my heart,like a stamp of an emperor's seal,
There she resides in,known yet unknown,
Xue fang,oh fragrant snow,
You are my fantasy land,
A dream,a dream I want to not woke,you are,
You are my love,
You are my muse,so priceless you are,
Gazing at you,my fragrant snow,
Feels like a thousand years of bliss.
