
moon slips behind
thin, wispy clouds —-
shifting shape.

moon slips behind
thin, wispy clouds —-
shifting shape.
When the voices of the children are heard on the green
And whisp'rings are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Your spring & your day are wasted in play,
And your winter and night in disguise.


Slender grass waves in a light breeze;
Tall-masted boat rocks in the night.
Stars hang low, over the vast plain;
The river moon struggles for height.
I'll never gain fame by the brush --
Too old for civil service posts...
Wading, wading, what am I like?
A sandpiper on the mud coast!
The original in Chinese (Title: 旅夜書懷):
細草微風岸,
危檣獨夜舟。
星垂平野闊,
月湧大江流。
名豈文章著,
官應老病休。
飄飄何所似,
天地一沙鷗。
This is Poem 113 of “Three Hundred Tang Poems,” i.e. 唐诗三百首

moon rises
behind thin clouds:
fuzzy orb

dry leaves skitter
past the temple censer,
colored by lantern.