English Rendering
The wind lifts the moon through mist’s endless stream,
Frost-laden fog rolls back in hazy dream.
A lifetime’s cares press on my aging heart,
Beyond the sunset’s rim—I stand apart.
Dreams taunt me with roads too far to tread,
No letters come—hope’s deferred like the dead.
Two poems drowned in a cup of clouded wine,
Drunk with gold blooms by this low rail of mine.