Classic Poem

Where the stream winds pine winds linger
scutter of gray rats over ancient tiles
who knows what king had his palace here
ruined buildings under the sheer cliff
dim rooms where ghost-fires flicker green
a broken road washed out by grieving torrents
ten thousand crannies make your true pipe organs
autumn colors your genuine high fashion
when lovely girls have turned to yellow earth
what use now their art of kohl and powder
of all attending the golden chariot
not a remnant but for these stone horses
sorrow's got me I sit upon the grass
flood over with singing tears drench my hands
step by step we trudge the journey
who if any lives till old