It’s been a long time, friend. I see you’ve brought your dagger, and I’ve brought my blade. Now journeys end, where poets gather, right here in these busy streets.

Be merry, my friend. You traveled far, but my war is not yet over. The pear trees, you ask? They live on in my songs.

Goodbye, my friend. Your country a radiant sun, mine a burning desert. There are no pear trees here, only a fleeting mirage.