Written on the Road Through Teng-chou

Mournful winds sighing through some family's orchards,
autumn pear trees, half their leaves blown away.
Stretching on and on, some family's vegetable garden,
autumn scallions, blossoms just now showing white.
Along the road, meeting such sights from my old home
makes me grieve I must be so much on the move.
Can't go home to my village north of the Wei,
now must be a sojourner south of the Yangtze—
since leaving my native place I've labored to no purpose,
in the end done nothing to better the world's plight.
Why be forever like duckweed on the waves,
never like a stone unmoving in the stream?
Author of original: 
Po Chü-i
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