Classic Poem

Fifth month, golden plums are ripe;
The horizon is hazy; the evening dewfall heavy;
The grass along the lane is bright green.
The sun sets in burning clouds.
The old gardener is glad the rains are over.
He puts the damp mats out to dry
And sets to work repairing the collapsed mud walls
Twilight, the sky is crystal clear.
The children dance with joy.
They shout and splash in the puddles.
All the world has been made new.
I walk in the garden without a coat.
The hedges are still wet and glittering.
The pond shimmers with a thousand rippling images.
They no sooner appear than
They are erased and appear again.
The beautiful trees are like my heart,
Swelling with boundless happiness.