English Rendering
My cot’s secluded where the limpid river winds;
My wicket gate is near the ancient roadway.
The town’s screened by overgrown grass of all kinds;
In lonely place I am slack in my array.
The branches of each elm look frail and slight;
Each loquat tree’s in fragrant flower.
Cormorants stand in western sunset bright,
Drying wings on weir from hour to hour.
