AN OLD AIR
There once was a man， sent on military missions，
A wanderer， from youth， on the You and Yan frontiers.
Under the horses' hoofs he would meet his foes
And， recklessly risking his seven-foot body，
Would slay whoever dared confront
Those moustaches that bristled like porcupinequills.
……There were dark clouds below the hills， there were white clouds above them，
But before a man has served full time， how can he go back？
In eastern Liao a girl was waiting， a girl of fifteen years，
Deft with a guitar， expert in dance and song.
……She seems to be fluting， even now， a reed-song of home，
Filling every soldier's eyes with homesick tears.