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Full Version: After the Sung Dynasty Poets as translated by Rexroth
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Late afternoon and I sit on a blue milk carton
above the Guadalupe River.  It’s early spring,
rain lilies in the yard, hummingbirds scolding
each other.  But these days mean little to an old man
looking out from an endless autumn.  Still
there are the poppies growing just above the river,
red bursts that even my gray hair can feel,
drunk as I am three hours before the sun has set.