Laments of the Gorges - Part 1
The edges of the gorges hack up sun and moon,
Sun and moon always ruined in their shining.
All things grow warp and slants,
Bird's wings fly warped and slanting.
Teeth on sunken stones locked;
Spirits of the drowned summoned but don't return.
A blur—armor-shells in a clear spring,
Splotched, the emerald robes on stone.
Hungrily lapping up the howl of rushing waters;
Slavering, seems like whirling, swirling oils
Don't go strolling through the gorges in springtime—
Stinking grasses grow tiny, tiny.
Sun and moon always ruined in their shining.
All things grow warp and slants,
Bird's wings fly warped and slanting.
Teeth on sunken stones locked;
Spirits of the drowned summoned but don't return.
A blur—armor-shells in a clear spring,
Splotched, the emerald robes on stone.
Hungrily lapping up the howl of rushing waters;
Slavering, seems like whirling, swirling oils
Don't go strolling through the gorges in springtime—
Stinking grasses grow tiny, tiny.
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