Dead Thoughts
My thoughts are an autumn breeze
Lifting and hurrying
Dry rubbish about in a corner.
My thoughts are willow branches
Already broken
Motionless at twilight.
A Comparison
My beloved is like blue smoke that rises
In long slow planes,
And wavers
Over the dark paths of old gardens long neglected.
Mutability
The wind shakes the mists
Making them quiver
With faint drum-tones of thunder.
Out of the crane-haunted mists of autumn,
Blue and brown
Rolls the moon.
There was a city living here long ago,
Of all that city
There is only one stone left half-buried in the marsh,
With characters upon it which no one now can read.