My Spring sleep is unswayed by dawn --
Though birds are heard through screen, still drawn.
Recalling night sounds of rain and wind,
I wonder how the flowers have thinned?
Original in Chinese:
春眠不覺曉，
處處聞啼鳥。
夜來風雨聲，
花落知多少。
I look straight upward and I see
A wasp nest hanging over me:
By a mere twig it's dangling,
And this, my nerves, is jangling.
The Hyena is renowned for its cackle--
Not so of bats, birds, snakes, whales or jackals.
So, why such an intense sense of humor?
Perhaps, it's just a human-lampooner.
I would never wish to impugn
That noble creature, the baboon.
Some say mean things about their fangs,
But about their gnarly butts-- DAAANG!
For the Ostrich, I feel quite bad:
The bird's great gift, it never had.
But, a flighted one, I don't wish to see;
I'd hate to have a falling one land on me.
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh--
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh--
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there--
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve--
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed in Shiloh.
Walking down a trail, I had quite a scare --
For walking straight towards me was a big ole bear.
It glanced at me, and then down at its feet,
Then that speciesist bear had the nerve to cross the street.
I feared a big macaque attack
As I walked by, turning my back.
Though its expression seemed ill-meaning,
I turned to see it was still preening.
Stream-washed leaves are glistening.
Someone is boiling cocoons.
Workers gossip, I'm listening.
Dim-eyed man with a cane spoons
Food into a bowl, bending
To pass it before I swoon.
I ask when the bean leaves yellow.
Grown about by Fragrant bushes,
Sunken in a winding valley,
Where the clear winds blow
And the shadows come and go,
And the cattle stand and low
And the sheep bells and the linnets
Sing and tinkle musically.
Between the past and the future,
Those two black infinities
Between which our brief life
Flashes a moment and goes out.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 