Falling ill on a journey,my dreams wanderthe withered fields

Fleas and lice biting;awake all nighta horse pissing close to my ear

In the cicada's cryThere's no sign that can foretellHow soon it must die.

Here, where a thousandcaptains swore grand conquest…tall grass their monument

Clouds come from time to time -and bring to men a chance to restfrom looking at the moon.

On a withered branchA crow has alighted:Nightfall in autumn.