Green mountains draw a line beyond the Northern Rampart.
White water curls around the Eastern Wall.
This place? Good as any for a parting . . .
Ahead just the lonely briars where you’ll march ten thousand li.
Floating clouds: the traveler’s ambition.
Falling sun: your old friend’s feelings.
We touch hands, and now you go.
Muffled sighs, and the post horses, neighing.
translated by J.P. Seaton
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Leonard Durso 
These last couple are a little depressing for an eighty year old.
I can see how they might be but I love the depth of feeling in these otherwise simple words.
Yes. That is the thing about them.