Early Autumn, by Po Chü-i
Two gray hairs appear in the lit mirror,
a single leaf tumbling into the courtyard.
Old age slips away, nothing to do with me,
and when grief comes, who does it find?
Idle months and years emptying away,
loved ones from long ago lost to sight,
I'll play with my girl here, my little girl:
we keep coaxing smiles from each other.