Classic Poem

When my mind can find no way to rest
in any place, if I follow the trail
of a friend's sad story of love,
taking autumn sunlight along as my companion,
before I know it I am at the ridge,
and the tears come.

The lamps and other lights that gather
at elder brother's house for the ceremonies
may be lights, but I have seen the autumn river
burning in tears as the sun sets.

Look at that, just look!
No, more than you, more than me . . .

When the fresh and happy words of first love
like the sound of the mountain stream fade,
when even the tears that rise
at the end of love have melted away,
in all the things that might well undo me,
I have come to the sea and I find
the voice of the autumn river has died.