#AmericanWriters
Down the Western hill the bright… Making yellow gold of all the air. On a lonely hilltop, away from the… A golden dragon stands staring, wi… Dreams that fade and die in the br…
Rays spring from the East like pu… The humming bird begins his flight… Happily he flies through the purpl… Looking for the lovely pink rose. On the mountain peak,
I sit through the long night In the high tower, And listen to the autumn rain Outside my window. There is no sound of human life,
I wish neither to possess, Nor to be possessed. I no longer covet paradise, More important, I no longer fear… The medicine for my suffering
The sun sets low in the west; The farewell song is over; We are separating. Leaning on the sandalwood oar I g… Far away, the sky.
All streams flowing East or West Must flow into the sea; The current from the middleland Sweeps by the lonely island. Gold and silver pebbles mingle,
The breeze on the bank Already blows cool and mild; The distant merging of lake and sk… Is but a red trace of sunset. The deep silence of the lake,
The dying sun lies sadly in the fa… The autumn wind blows mercilessly; The yellow leaves fall. From the mountain peak, Two streams parted unwillingly,
Rain, Black clouds, Fallen blossoms and pale moon, The hurried flight of birds The arrival of lonely autumn
Though the night was made for lovi… And the day returns too soon. And so the time flies hopefully Although she’s far away. Other thoughts may come and go,
Alone I wander in silence And in the sky the two escaped par… Fall from fear of fishermen. The two fish swim; One white, one gold.
I live in memory of a dream Which has come and gone; In solitude I sit on my boat As it glides freely down the tranq… Across the blue sky, the swallows…
Love is like a friendship caught o… In the beginning a flame, Very pretty, often hot and fierce But still and only light and flick… As love grows older, our hearts ma…
Once more I hold you in my arms; And once more I lost myself in A paradise of my own. Right now you and I are in A golden boat drifting freely on a…
Who knows when meeting shall ever… It might be for years or It might be forever. Let us then take a lump of clay, Wet it, pat it,
