to the tune of
Crow Night Sung (I)
Li Hou Zhu (937-978?)
Last night: wind and rain against the curtains,
Sa, Sa—the sound of fall.
The wick is out, the fifth watch finished
but I am still thinking, propped up by this pillow, thinking.
The days fall slowly out of this world, water from a river.
My life wavering as though inside a dream.
The only stable road is to the wine rack.
Otherwise, why walk.
translated by Ken Chen
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