Mist hangs over the deep river pools and floats down gently, gently, with the current.
Behind me, through the trees, the moon is sinking.
The business of the world is a swiftly moving space of water, a rushing, spreading water.
I am content to be an old man holding a bamboo fishing-rod.
SUNG TO THE AIR: "THE WANDERER"
(COMPOSED BY SU WU IN THE TIME OF THE EMPEROR WU OF HAN)
BY MÊNG CHIAO
Thread from the hands of a doting mother