Sadness of August
In a yellow pond there are white ducks swimming,
Only a little taller than human body, sorghums are still green.
How should I put, in my pounding heart,
A narrow path in the field, this sadness in August?
Rains washed the sky clean last night, sun shines
On hills and leaves some shadows;
Sheep follow the shepherd into the village,
A big tree shades a well, or maybe a heart!
No one ever spoke of August, summer is over
And fall isn’t here. I look onto a farmland,
And then at the squashes over the clay wall,
I just don’t understand how life and dream connect.
The Sadness in August
In the Yellow Water Pond swim ducks white;
The sorghum stalks dark green have reached overhead.
How can the jumping heart set all right
The thin lane in the field, this sadness in August?
The sky washed last night, the mound
Has got another shade from the sun;
The sheep behind the shepherd enter the village, turning around;
A big tree casts a shade on the well; like a heart it does seem!
Nobody has said anything about August at all,
The summer is gone, and not yet here is the fall.
But I gaze into the field and the melon on the wall,
Still don’t understand how life is linked to a dream.