Under an Eastern Star

From Wu Ti

The autumn winds are cold.
Chrysanthemums and asters
bloom by the garden wall.
An arrowhead of geese
pierces the gray clouds.

I cast my black fly
in the spray-white creek.
The water drums a roll
on rounded brown rocks.
The wind tattoos a snare
on scarlet maple leaves.

I long to dance with the leaves.
I want to waltz with the waters.
Sorrow slows my feet.
My legs have withered.
My feet stumble on pebbles.

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Updated last on:  2001/05/23