Classic Poem

Cold weather, less and less water in the Wei,
though cattails and panic grass shoot up tall and rank.
Idly I stand on the sandy shore,
watching people cutting reed stalks.
So close to the water, a chill setting,
hushed and lonely even on sunny days,
more so now as twilight shadows lengthen—
here in the fields, thoughts grow bleaker than ever.
Bleakly I make my way home alone,
evening rain dampening the village bridge.