Returning to Yin-ch'eng Early in the Year Ting-ch'ou
Three years ago I left these city walls;
my windblown hair now is touched with frost.
In poverty, much has turned out wrong;
unskilled I stand, my back turned to the times.
Bird prints left on sand — news from the battlefield
where oceans of dust smell of dragon blood.
But my solitary poet's heart lives on:
brush and inkstone are always by my side.
my windblown hair now is touched with frost.
In poverty, much has turned out wrong;
unskilled I stand, my back turned to the times.
Bird prints left on sand — news from the battlefield
where oceans of dust smell of dragon blood.
But my solitary poet's heart lives on:
brush and inkstone are always by my side.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.