Classic Poem

The autumn night, limpid, often startles me out of dreams.
Among the trees a crow caws, twice, three times.
The clepsydra, rather slow, adds to my collar's cold.
The sputtering lamp darkens, making the window light.
A couplet, in this idleness, I manage to get.
All feelings are spawned while on the pillow.
Tossing, turning, sleepless, thinking of an old friend,
I happen to see the moon clear, close to the roof.