Classic Poem

Far down the Koshu Road the clear-tone cicadas sing and the dockmakie has scarlet fruits. " The Rape of the Sabine Women " perhaps? Look, a Corinthian stone house. Here lives an old maker of fish-shaped wooden drums. With his lodger, a teacher of French, one day, I acutely drank palm liquor with eggplant pickles and raw dace — it numbed the roots of my tongue.