Lyric

My uncle passed away at a young age just as the sweet scent of osmanthus was drifting through the garden. He was a gentle man with handsome features. I loved him dearly, too. People from all over the village gathered together. Everyone was weeping. A young woman who had loved him wept
silently, her entire being consumed by grief. She still comes to lay flowers
for him to this day. She is an old woman now. I wonder if it is truly possible
to heal such sorrow. I don't know. For the first time in a long while, I played
the piano and sang. Will you listen?