GRASSThe grass is spreading out across the plain,Each year, it dies, then flourishes again.It's burnt but not destroyed by prairie fires,When spring winds blow they bring it back to life.Afar, its scent invades the ancient road,Its emerald green overruns the ruined town.Again I see my noble friend depart,I find I'm crowded full of parting's feelings.

READING LAOZIThose who speak do not know, those who know are silent,I heard this saying from the old gentleman.If the old gentleman was one who knew the way,Why did he feel able to write five thousand words?

SONG OF SUNSET ON THE RIVERA strip of water's spread in the setting sun,Half the river's emerald, half is red.I love the third night of the ninth month,The dew is like pearl; the moon like a bow.

FEELINGS ON WATCHING THE MOONThe times are hard: a year of famine has emptied the fields,My brothers live abroad- scattered west and east.Now fields and gardens are scarcely seen after the fighting,Family members wander, scattered on the road.Attached to shadows, like geese ten thousand li apart,Or roots uplifted into September's autumn air.We look together at the bright moon, and then the tears should fall,This night, our wish for home can make five places one.

AN INVITATION TO MR. LIUGreen lees of beer that's newly brewed,A little stove of red clay burns.As evening comes, the sky's about to snow,Can you drink one cup with me?

SONG OF THE PALACEHer handkerchief all soaked in tears, she cannot dream,In deepest night before the palace voices sing.Her rosy cheeks aren't old, but first love has been cut,Leaning, wreathed in smoke, she sits until the dawn.

SLEEPING ON A NIGHT OF AUTUMN RAINIt's cold this night in autumn's third month,Peacefully within, a lone old man.He lies down late, the lamp already gone out,And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain.The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers.When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,The red frosted leaves cover the steps.

REMEMBERING SOUTH OF THE RIVERSouth of the river is good,Long ago, I knew the landscape well.At sunrise, the river's flowers are red like fire,In spring, the river's water's green as lilies.How could I not remember south of the river?

NIGHT SNOWI was surprised my quilt and pillow were cold,I see that now the window's bright again.Deep in the night, I know the snow is thick,I sometimes hear the sound as bamboo snaps.