Classic Poem

Waterclock drips heavy,
rain drips heavy,
drop after drop on deserted steps
breaking the traveler's heart.
I huddle under thin blanket,
huddle under thin blanket,
my sick bones invaded by cold,
how can I help but grieve?

In the quiet I hear my gaunt horse
whinny from the stable;
my Szechwan boy is fast asleep,
the country roosters, mum.
Travel is hard,
travel is hard,
my white hair is fading:
when will my saddle ever end its trip?