Under high heaven apes wail against the rushing wind
While birds circle an islet clearing.
Leaves drop endlessly rustling after rustling
The Yangtze River surges endlessly on.
Traveling ten thousand miles through sad autumns, always a wanderer
A hundred years with too many illnesses,
climbing to the terraces alone.
So many difficulties sufferings and regrets made my temples white.
Dispirited. I pause again for a cup of cloudy wine.
Du Fu
LuceStellare 