Poem 25


I have infinite feelings that the ovean has changed into a mulverry grove.

My body is detained in this building.

I cannot fly from this grassy hill,

And green waters block the hero.

Impetuously, I threw away my writing brush.

My efforts have all been in vain.

It is up to me to answer carefully.

I have no words to murmur against the east wind.


Introduction | Voyage | Family and Dreams | Outpour | Poetry | Conclusion