Winter Night
Father opens European, Dutch books;
Child reads T'ang, Sung verse.
Sharing this single lamp,
each traces his own source.
Father reads on and never rests,
child, tired, thinks of chestnuts, yams.
I'm ashamed I am, in spirit, so far from father,
who, eighty years of age, has no mist in his eyes.
Child reads T'ang, Sung verse.
Sharing this single lamp,
each traces his own source.
Father reads on and never rests,
child, tired, thinks of chestnuts, yams.
I'm ashamed I am, in spirit, so far from father,
who, eighty years of age, has no mist in his eyes.
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