An ice-cold river encircles the log hut
Whose compassionate face is staring toward me.
A tree like an umbrella shields the river
Who with windlike fingers plucks my heartstrings.

You are a bright cloud in my evening sky
While I sing you a poem about sunset.
But your songs are constellations of stars
That go on flickering deep in my soul.

My poem is merely withering leaves
Who in a warm dream laugh at thunderstorms,
But your songs are like the silence of flowers
Whose lasting fragrance scorns authority.

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin