Classic Poem

The seven types of treasures
people prize and desire —
what do I have to do with them?
Born of us two,
our son, Furuhi, a pearl,
when the day broke with the morning star
wouldn't leave his bed of white cloth
but, standing or sitting,
he would play with us.
When the evening of the evening star came,
" Let's sleep, " he would say, taking our hands.
" Father, mother, stay near me, don't go away.
Like a marigold I'll sleep in the middle. "
He'd say this so lovingly
that we looked forward to the time we'd see him
an adult, for better or worse,
trusting in him as in a great ship.
But unexpectedly a crosswind
swept down and overwhelmed him.
Not knowing what to do, what could be done,
I tucked up my sleeves with a white-cloth sash,
held a clear mirror in my hand
and looked up, begged, prayed to the gods of heaven,
prostrated myself, forehead on the ground, before the gods of earth.
" Whether it is this way or is not,
is up to the gods, "
I said, pacing up and down, as I begged and prayed.
But he never got better even for a moment;
bit by bit his face lost color,
morning by morning he spoke less,
till his precious life came to an end.
I jumped to my feet, stamped, shouted;
I prostrated myself, looked up, beat my chest, grieved.
My son, who I held in my hands, I've let fly away —
the way of this world!

ENVOY

So young he wouldn't know his way. I offer you gifts, messenger of the underworld — carry
him on your back