MEMORIES IN EARLY WINTER
South go the wildgesse， for leaves are now falling，
And the water is cold with a wind from the north.
I remember my home； but the Xiang River's curves
Are walled by the clouds of this southern country.
I go forward. I weep till my tears are spent.
I see a sail in the far sky.
Where is the ferry？ Will somebody tell me？
It's growing rough. It's growing dark.