Through the window blows the chilly autumn wind,
bringing fresh memories of summer’s sweetness;
across the years since boyhood,
all the hours of solitude
waiting on the edge of awe,
and now, here at the window
on the edge of winter,
I hear the music
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is your true name Li Po? Your imagery is strong and fresh, like a wind blowing from another quadrant. I scarce can express my admiration for this (and all your other) work.