The autumn has begun to crowd in
　　as sickles carry wind in hands
　　I, however, keep standing on the hillside
　　watching birds singing, butterflies fluttering
　　trees thinning, and a fruit
　　ripen or fall. I’ll take away the dusk quietly
　　and load the carriage with dreams of stars
　　
　　My relatives of the earth and Kaoliang(*) brothers
　　Although I'm blessed as living among you
　　I mourn not to be a drop of rain, or a breath of wind
　　that can walk into your heart directly
　　only a grass holding dew beads
　　to prevent myself getting lost in the night
　　
　　* Kaoliang, a kind of crop that is widely grown in North China.