from Reading the Poetry of Meng Chiao by Su Tung-p’o

Man’s life is like morning dew,
a flame eating up the oil night by night.
Why should I strain my ears
listening to the squeaks of this autumn insect?
Better lay aside the book
and drink my cup of jade-white wine.

translated by Burton Watson

One thought on “from Reading the Poetry of Meng Chiao by Su Tung-p’o

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