Autumn Rain, A Night of Sleep
It’s a late autumn night, cold and quiet.
A lone old man at ease here in idleness,
I lie down late, after the lamp goes dark,
sleep deep and rich amid sounds of rain.
Ashes burn all night under the winejar,
and incense keeps the quilt-rack warm.
Day dawns cold and clear, but I stay put.
Frosty leaves crowd the steps with red.
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