Spring Arrives, Green Fills the Window

In middle age, cast aside, I became a wanderer. Fierce waves chase me urgently, into the vast ocean I fall. My former self, now unrecognizable, dust gathers on the shelf where my pen lies. What remains of half a life? An aging mother, a home in poverty. In my arms, a young child cries; at my ears, jackals howl. Crows fly, foxes laugh, dogs and swine tear at my skirt. Songs of Chu rise from all sides, besieged, I stand alone. To rise from the Eastern Hills, I dance at the crow of the rooster, again and again.