Classic Poem

Autumn winds cry through mulberry branches.
The grasses are white, fox and hare exult
He returns from his dinner at Handan,
the wine not gone from his blood.
North of the wall in Levelplain County.
the great hawk held on his arm
In the empty fortress he shoots and kills
a pair of leaping tigers
And turns around to the halfmoon,
the bow tip strung at his waist.