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Lost, a whole army,
before the gates of a city,
the year before last
fighting the Yuezhi.
Lost, the torn, scattered tents,
with no one to collect them.
There were only the tattered banners
on horses straggling back.
Lost, any news of you,
along the way from Tibet.
What offerings can I make
if your fate is unknown?
Lost, you and I to each other,
whether or not you still live.
I offer these tears
from far, far away.
--Zhang Ji, my tr.
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