Classic Poem

That place at the eastern end of wide stretching plains
where a stream meanders away, murmuring old tales,
while a dappled ox
bellows in the idle golden tones of sunset:

—How could I ever forget that place, even in my dreams?

That place where, as embers fade in a clay stove,
the sound of the evening breeze goes riding across empty fields,
while my aging father, lightly drowsing,
lays his head on a freshly plumped straw pillow:

—How could I ever forget that place, even in my dreams?

That place where my heart, grown from the soil,
got drenched in dew from high grass
searching for arrows shot at random
as it longed for the blue sky above:

—How could I ever forget that place, even in my dreams?

That place where my sister with her black locks flying
like evening waves dancing on legendary seas,
together with my wife who went barefoot in every season,
nothing the least bit pretty about her,
used to glean ears of corn,
the scorching sunlight on her back:

—How could I ever forget that place, even in my dreams?

That place where stars sparsely scattered in the sky
moved toward sand castles we could never know,
while frosty rooks flew cawing over shabby roofs,
full of the murmurs of people sitting around in dim lamplight:

—How could I ever forget that place, even in my dreams?