The sun has set.The sand sparkles.The sky is bright with afterglow.The small waves flicker,And the swirling water rustles the stones.In the white path of the moon,A small boat drifts,Seeking for the entranceTo the stream of many turnings.Probably there is snowOn the shady slopes of the hills.
The sun has set.The sand sparkles.The sky is bright with afterglow.The small waves flicker,And the swirling water rustles the stones.In the white path of the moon,A small boat drifts,Seeking for the entranceTo the stream of many turnings.Probably there is snowOn the shady slopes of the hills.
The sun has set.The sand sparkles.The sky is bright with afterglow.The small waves flicker,And the swirling water rustles the stones.In the white path of the moon,A small boat drifts,Seeking for the entranceTo the stream of many turnings.Probably there is snowOn the shady slopes of the hills.
The sun has set.
The sand sparkles.
The sky is bright with afterglow.
The small waves flicker,
And the swirling water rustles the stones.
In the white path of the moon,
A small boat drifts,
Seeking for the entrance
To the stream of many turnings.
Probably there is snow
On the shady slopes of the hills.
Kao Shih-chi, 19th Century