The circles of raindrops on the water
are like a mat of O's.
In the sudden squall the surface prances.
The waves are like fighting cocks.
The dusturbed waters are crested with white.
Hailstones fall and the rain pours in a slant.
The trees swing to left and right
As if possessed by spirits
And behind the spit of land
The clouds form a dark backdrop.
While the lake wears the proud mantle of rain-lace
I wish to roam among the obsure islands.
Ferryman, prepare the boat.
1948
Translated By Win Pe
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