A screen of cloud veils the mountain, And cold monkeys squawk from green pines. Fungi abound, but seeds dormant, Searching for sprouts -- alas, in vain. Somewhere near there's a fairy cave Where flutes and lutes are often played. Its Way is overgrown with moss, And the old stone gate yields no clue. Where have all the fairy folk gone?
Looking back, there's an endless plain Where flowers fall like streaming tears. It's easy to grow old; Where is the messenger to bring some news? To tell who the Golden Phoenix charms? Waking from a deep, restless dream What remains are blooms on the stream.
The West winds tumble fallen leaves; Autumn 's yellow, though blooms are shy; I brush at dust upon my sleeves; The horses' hoofprints dot the frost; Moonlit cocks crow amid grain sheaves; The road to town: no passersby.
Fame 's not gained by effort or skill, And would fade away ten years hence. Please don't dance, but drink your fill. Six Dynasty tales flow away: Diluted as waters spread and spill. The world feels like dream and pretense.
The crescent moon hangs on a barren tree. The water clock has stopped and all is still. Who sees the sad man pace the shore alone? His shadow slants and curls into a swan.
The startled man stiffens and turns to look; His grief remains unseen by anyone. He passes on a seat of fallen log, And plops down on the wet and cold sandbank.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 