Looking up at autumn leaves,

Clear crisp taste.

Winter moon, coming from the

clouds to keep me company,

Is the wind piercing, the snow cold?

I shall go behind the mountain.

Go there too, O moon.

Night after night we shall keep each other company.

The breeze is fresh,

the moon is clear.

Together let us dance the night away,

in what is left of old age.

And what is it, to linger?

It is the sound of the pine breeze

there in the painting.

It is not that I wish to have none

of the world,

It is that I am better at the

pleasure enjoyed alone.

The moon revolves now,

Hiding beneath a cloud,

Tendrils fading.

And what is to linger?

Looking up at autumn leaves,

There in the painting.

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