In the twilight of the bamboo grove, shadows dance,
Ancestors whisper secrets through the rustling leaves.
Incense curls in the still evening air,
As lanterns guide the spirits back home.

The dragon’s breath stirs the ancient stones,
Tales of emperors and warriors told in hushed tones.
Red paper and gold, symbols of a life well-lived,
Laid with reverence, a bridge between worlds.

Beneath the moon’s pale gaze, a silent river flows,
Carrying souls to the jade gates of eternity.
Offerings of fruit and tea, a humble tribute,
To the departed who linger in the heart.

In the quiet of the night, memories bloom,
A tapestry woven with threads of love and loss.
Chinese death, a solemn, graceful dance,
Between the realms of the living and the gone.