SUNG TO THE AIR: "THE MANTZŬ LIKE AN IDOL"
BY LI T'AI-PO
The trees in the level forest stand in rows and rows,
The mist weaves through them.
The jade-green of the cold hillside country hurts one's heart.
Night colour drifts into the high cupola.
In the cupola, a man grieves.
I stand—stand—on the jade steps, doing nothing.