Coming of Autumn by Li Ho
Wind in the parasol trees startles the man’s mind of bitter grief.
Under dim lamplight, spinners cry urging for the chilly white silk.
Who will ever read this volume of green bamboo slips,
Forbidding the worms to pierce it into powdery holes?
Such thoughts tonight are tangling my knotted heart.
In the cold rain come the fragrant spirits to console me the poet.
On autumn graves the ghosts chant that poem of Pao Chao.
A thousand years in earth makes the blood of regrets into emerald jade.