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.

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.

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?