by Du Fu (translation by Rik Roots)
The battle's demise brings cries from new shades;
the man grieves, alone and aged: he worries.
As the day ends clouds break rank, fall close;
the fleet snow ribbons amid a swirl of winds.
A spoon of gourd, discarded; a springless cup;
a stove mimics the ruddy flames of summer.
The gabble of messages bleach from the land;
I sit rigid, shocked, my ink-drained book white.