Classic Poem

Your minister, through the years, has had his cheerful thoughts,
but this night, everything arouses only sadness:
the voice of the cold cricket in the blowing wind,
leaves falling from the paulownia tree, struck by the rain.
You, my lord, are at your peak, while gradually I grow old.
Your generosity has been boundless, my repayment always slow.
Not knowing how to assuage this feeling,
I drink wine, listen to the koto , and recite poems.