Deep are the autumn tints a-growing,
fallen leaves drift like butterflies;
colored flowers already are in sleep,
all is silence, absolutely quiet.
Wild geese flying to the south
trill crackles into the distant sky,
break the seeming silence
of its eternal solitude.
A whole pond of clear water
disturbed by the drizzling rain
is at a loss in confusion,
a haze of gloom at dusk.
A withered Lotus in the pond
her large leaves are down drooped,
as if in meditation she falls,
haply dreaming like Chuangtse
of being a butterfly.
Thither an undying soul remains
in the bleak, cold wind,
gazing into the chilly evening
of its earthly life.
Mortal eyes could not well see
the touching shades of its glee:
a sad song to the desolate,
a lament to a poetic decay.
The fall-off of flowers
is but a matter of course,
an OTHER kind of beauty
in an incompleteness;
A mirror of the joys and sorrows
of EACH human life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem