1
Fallen leaves are scattered by evening rain.
I sing and brush red strings alone.
Unmoved by heartless friends,
I go within, beyond the bitter sea.
Outside my gate rumble rich men’s carts.
By my pillow Taoist books are rolled.
Now in simple cottons, no more a guest of clouds,
No more green water and blue hills.
2
Too much pain to sigh alone:
How can I face the windy courtyard filled with the autumn moon?
In dark rooms, I hear the watch sound.
Every night, by my lamp, hair turning white.
translated by Geoffrey Waters
Leonard Durso 
Yeah.
I knew you’d like this one.
So many people are unhappy. Old, new, doesn’t matter. Apparently it’s always been that way.
There isn’t an age where people haven’t known unhappiness, usually for the same reasons.
And you can see how well we learn going forward. Same old, same old.
True.