Each year the cherry blossoms flower
Back here comes the old master
Spreading red scrolls and Chinese ink
By this busy shopping corner
For his calligraphy craft
Extol the admiring buyers
"The fine hand moves the brush
Like phoenix dancing and dragon flying."

But each year guests come fewer
Where are they gone, the admiring buyers?
The sad red scrolls have turned dull
The ink has dried up in the forlorn bowl…

The old master still sits there
But passersby no longer care
Dead leaves drop on the red scrolls
In the air a misty rain takes its toll

This year the cherry blossoms again flower
But the old master is here no longer
All the folks of yesterdays
Where do their souls now stay?

I've never been good with poems so I have entirely no clue what it means or could ever mean. Please help. Thank you.