The sound of pine winds and their color are one, the valley river water falling green

The rising sun casts the same light over the sea in all directions, but among the waves today, spring stirs

Relished as cooler than usual tonight, this wind — as we wait for autumn by the water of this mountain well

Regarding my infants as friends from old days, grown used to them, still I feel troubled under this evening sky

The Plain of Heaven, think of it, is no different in color, but autumn has that light of the moon

Not like an ordinary cloud, those mountain cherries, reminding me this morning of an old dream

Neglectful, I have not died of love — another year gone, counting on meeting you by living on

More melancholy than the bright moon at daybreak is to part at dusk and lose you among the stars

Mists above the crimson leaves cleanly swept aside, the peak of Storm Mountain becomes clear-cut

Missives, fleeting, my lover's only trace, today my sleeve, the weir, cannot hold